SPORT IN VANCOUVER AND 
NEWFOUNDLAND 



SPORT IN VANCOUVER 
AND NEWFOUNDLAND 



BY 

SIR JOHN ROGERS 

K.C.M.G., D.S.O., F.R.G.S. 



PVITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS BY THE AUTHOR 
AND REPRODUCTIONS OF PHOTOGRAPHS 



NEW YORK 

E. p. DUTTON & CO. 

31 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 

1912 



■ VSTff 



Richard Clay & Sons, Limitkb, 

brunswick street, stamford street, s.e. 

and bdnoay, .suffolk. 



^^f4/s 



/2-— 



TO 

MY WIFE 

THE COMPANION OF MANY WANDERINGS 

IN STRANGE LANDS 



PREFACE 

The following pages are simply a tran- 
scription of my rough diary of two autumn 
holidays in Vancouver Island and Newfound- 
land in search of sport — should they prove of 
any use to those who may follow in my steps, 
I shall feel amply rewarded. 

J. G. R. 



CONTENTS 



BOOK I 



CHAP. 

I TO VANCOUVER ISLAND . 

II VANCOUVER TO THE CAMPBELL RIVER 

III THE riHH AT THE CAMFfJKLL RIVER 

IV HPORT AT CAMPfjELL RIVER 

V FISHING-TACKLE . 

V/ TO ALERT RAY 

VII IN THE FOREST 

VIII IN THE WAPITI COUNTRY 

IX OUT OF THE FOEEST 

X AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 



1 
15 

29 

39 

(■>l 

75 

87 

107 

119 

131 



BOOK n 

I TO NEWFOUNDLAND 

II TO LONG HARBOUR 

in TO THE HUNTING GROUNDS 

IV HUNGRY GROVE POND TO SANDY POND 

V TO KOSKACODDE .... 

VI SPORT ON KEPSKAIG 

VII TO THE SHOE HILL COUNTRY 

VIII HOMEWARD BOUND 



157 

173 

187 
195 
215 
233 
245 
257 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



VANCOUVER 

ORIGINAL DRAWINGS 

THE MOUTH OP THE CAMPBELL RIVER 
MORNING MISTS, MT. KINGCOME 
CAMP ON MT. KINGCOME 



To face page 

Frontispiece 

. 138 
. 140 



PHOTOS 

THE INDIAN CEMETERY, CAMPBELL RIVER 

A morning's catch 

TWO GOOD FISH 
A 60 LB. PISH 

"dick" 

totem poles, alert bay 

the head of nimquish lake 

driftwood on the beach op lake 
the foreground 

the vancouver forest, showing undergrowth through 
which we had to make our way 

LAKE NO. 1 . 

PACKING OUT 

THE WAPITI, 13 POINTS . 

THE SHORE OF LAKE NIMQUISH 

A ROCKY MOUNTAIN GOAT 

THE GOAT COUNTRY 



NIMQUISH, "DICK IN 




41 

41 
50 

50 
80 
80 
92 

92 

110 
110 
121 
126 
126 
141 
141 



xii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



NEWFOUNDLAND 

ORIGINAL DRAWINGS 

NOT GOOD ENOUGH 

STEVE JOE DRIES HIMSELF .... 
STEVE BERNARD IN CAMP .... 

THE CLEARING OF THE STORM, SHOE HILL RIDGE 
A VIEW IN LONG HARBOUR .... 



To fact page 

159' 

226 

226 

247 

263 



PHOTOS 
john denny and steve bernard 
a newfoundland pond 
steve spying, sandy pond . 
camp, west end sandy pond 
the three-horned stag 
"bad water" 
a thirty-four point caribou 



STEVE SKINNING THE HEAD OF THE THIRTY-FOUR POINTER 238 



LUNCH ON THE BAIE DU NORD RIVER 
MY CAMP, SHOE HILL DROKE .... 
UP THE TWO-MILE BROOK, HOMEWARD BOUND . 
A BROOK IN FLOOD ... 



197 

197 
217 
217 
225 
225 
238 



256 
256 
261 
261 



MAPS 

SKETCH MAP OF VANCOUVER ISLAND 
SKETCH MAP OF NEWFOUNDLAND 



3 

159 



TO VANCOUVER ISLAND 



VANCOUVER 




1iV5SoaJ)15Vur5 0«,^ra^ iq II 



[ '/'(( /ace paiji 3. 



CHAPTER I 

TO VANCOUVER ISLAND 

From the day I read in the Field Sir Richard 
Musgrave's article, " A seventy-pound salmon 
with rod and line," and located the river as 
the Campbell River, I determined that should 
the opportunity arise, I, too, would try my 
luck in those waters. 

Subsequent articles in the Field, which 
appeared from time to time, only increased 
my desire, and the summer of 1908 found me 
in a position to start on the trip to which I 
had so long looked forward. 

Living in Egypt, the land of eternal glare 
and sunshine, I counted the days till I could 
rest my eyes on the ever-green forests of 
Vancouver Island. 

My intention was to arrive in Vancouver 
about the end of July, spend the month of 
August, when the great tyee salmon run, at 
the Campbell River, and pass September, 
when the shooting season begins, in hunting 
for wapiti in the primeval forests which clothe 
the north of Vancouver Island. 

B2 8 



4 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

I also hoped, should time permit, to have a 
try for a Rocky Mountain goat, and possibly 
a bear on the Mainland. 

I sailed from Southampton on July 10, on 
the Deutschland, the magnificent steamer of 
the Hamburg-American Line, and never did 
I travel in greater luxury. 

The voyage across the Atlantic is always 
dull and monotonous; it was therefore with 
great relief that, having passed Sandy Hook 
in the early morning, I found myself approach- 
ing New York on the 16th. 

Here I was to have a new experience. 

I am, I hope, a modest man, and never 
dreamt that I was worthy of becoming the 
prey of the American interviewer. 

The fact of being a Pasha in Egypt, a rank 
which I attained when serving in the Egyptian 
Army, was my undoing. 

A kind German friend who had used his 
good offices on my behalf with the Board of 
the Hamburg-American Line, gave the show 
away, for I found myself on the printed 
passenger list figuring as Sir John Rogers 
Pasha. 

To the American interviewer, a Pasha was, 
I presume, a novelty, and the opportunity of 
torturing one not to be forgone, for as soon 
as we came alongside the quay at Hoboken, a 



TO VANCOUVER ISLAND 5 

pleasant and well-spoken individual came up 
to me and, raising his hat, remarked, " The 
Pasha I believe. Welcome to America." I 
then realized what I was in for. 

Had I been a witness in the box, I could 
not have undergone a more merciless cross- 
examination. It was almost on a par with a 
declaration I had to make for the Immigration 
Authorities — giving my age, where I was born, 
who were my father and mother, when did 
they die, what was the colour of my hair and 
eyes, and lastly, had I ever been in prison, and 
if so, for what offence ? 

I really think New York might spare its 
visitors this ordeal. 

Wriggle as I could, my interviewer was 
determined to obtain copy, and though I 
insisted that the title of " Pasha " had been 
entered on the passenger list by mistake, and 
that it was one not intended for exportation, 
he was not to be satisfied. 

Giving as few details as possible as to how 
I had obtained my exalted title, I eventually 
shook off my persecutor. No sooner had I 
moved a few steps away, than if possible a 
more plausible person expressed the great 
pleasure it gave him to welcome me to New 
York, and endeavoured to impress on me 
that it was a duty I owed to myself and to the 



6 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

American nation, not only to explain what 
a "Pasha" was and how I became a Pasha, 
but also to allow my photograph to be taken, 
which he guaranteed would appear the follow- 
ing day in his paper — naturally the leading 
journal of New York. 

On my point-blank refusal to accord any 
more interviewers an audience or to be im- 
mortalized in his paper, he sadly expressed his 
astonishment that I should refuse the celebrity 
he wished to confer on me. 

Had not Mr. Kingdon Gould allowed him- 
self to be photographed ? — then why not I ? 

Other interviewers gave me up as a bad job, 
but just before landing I was leaning over the 
side of the steamer when some one shouted, 
" I have got you ! " and I saw that one of my 
persecutors had taken a snapshot, which I am 
glad to say must have been a failure, for I did 
not appear in the New York papers the next 
day. 

I acknowledge that one of my interviewers 
to whom I had refused any information heaped 
coals of fire on my head, by rendering me 
valuable assistance in getting my luggage 
through the Customs. 

I had often heard of the difficulties of the 
New York Customs, but I must say I never 
met with greater civility, and there was no 



TO VANCOUVER ISLAND 7 

delay in passing all my baggage, fishing-rods, 
guns, rifles, no duty being charged. 

New York possessed lew attractions for me, 
and the call of the Campbell River was strong 
— so July 17th found me starting for Montreal, 
where I arrived the same night and put up at 
the excellent Windsor Hotel. 

Only a top sleeping berth on the Trans- 
Continental Express was available for the 
following night, and, as I desired a section — 
that is two berths, upper and lower — I had to 
wait till the evening of Sunday, the 19th, 
before I could start for Vancouver. 

Leaving Montreal at 10.15 p.m., I arrived 
at Vancouver about noon on the 24th, having 
travelled straight through. 

The Canadian Pacific Railway is probably 
the most extensively advertised line in the 
world. I cannot say it complied with modern 
requirements as regards convenience and 
comfort. 

Every one knows the much-vaunted Pull- 
man Car system of America — men and women 
in the same carriage, the only privacy being 
offered by drawing the curtains across the 
berths which are arranged in two long rows 
on either side of the car. 

If you have a section of two berths, which 
is essential to comfort, you can stand upright 



8 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

in the lower berth to dress and undress, and 
put away your clothes where you can. 

If you have only a single berth, you have 
to dress and undress as best you can, sitting 
in your berth. 

On my first trip to Canada, I was only going 
as far as Mattawa, one night in the train, so 
contented myself with a single lower berth. 

The upper berth was occupied by a very 
stout lady, who in descending in the morning, 
gave me an exhibition of understandings as 
unexpected by me as it was unintentional on 
her part. 

The real advantage of a section, in taking 
the long Trans-Continental journey, is that 
when the berths are put up in the day-time, 
one has a nice compartment to oneself ; that is, 
if the black porter does not condescend some- 
times to occupy one of the seats, and only to 
move, on being politely requested to do so. 

The sporting pamphlets of the Canadian 
Pacific Railway make a sportsman's mouth 
water. Here we have the paradise of the 
fisherman — there the Mecca of the sportsman. 

It was certainly then disappointing, to say 
the least of it, to find in the Restaurant Car, 
that though passing through the paradise of 
the fisherman, two days out from Montreal, 
we were eating stale mackerel, and on the return 



TO VANCOUVER ISLAND 9 

journey when the sporting season was in full 
swing and duck and prairie hens were being 
brought in abundance to the car for sale — 
they were only purchased by the black porters 
for re-sale at Montreal at a handsome profit. 
None of them appeared at our table. 

The food was indifferent and dear. Every- 
thing was " a la carte," and to dine moderately 
cost 1 1 to 2 dollars, while a tiny glass of whisky, 
served in a specially constructed bottle of 
infinitesimal proportions, was charged at an 
exorbitant price. 

Food in the car, without wine, beer or 
spirits, may be put down at 5 to 6 dollars 
a day, and I would recommend any one making 
the trip to stow away a bottle of good whisky 
in his suit-case, from which to fill his own 
flask for meals. 

Travelling for six days and five nights con- 
tinuously, one would have thought that some 
simple bathing arrangements would have been 
provided. A douche even would have been 
welcome. The lavatory and smoking-room were 
one and the same — five to six persons could find 
sitting accommodation, and four basins had to 
meet the washing requirements of the entire car. 

I do not wish to be over critical, but I am 
glad to say I have met many Canadians who 
agree with me that the arrangements for the 



10 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

comfort of the passengers on the Canadian 
Pacific Railway are capable of improvement. 

Very different, I was told, was the comfort to 
be found on the American Trans-Continental 
Line from Seattle via Chicago to New York. 
The train is provided with a bathroom, library 
and a barber's shop, while an American friend 
who recommended me to return by the Ameri- 
can Express, assured me that the food left 
nothing to be desired. 

When competition arises between the two 
Trans-Continental lines in Canada, the second 
of which is now being constructed, some im- 
provements may be hoped for. 

The scenery of the Rocky Mountains has so 
often been described, that I will not inflict my 
impressions at any length on my readers. It 
is certainly fine, but no part of it can in my 
opinion compare with that of the line from 
Lucerne to Milan via the St. Gothard, and 
what a difference in the engineering of the 
line and the speed of the trains. Accidents 
by derailing of ballast trains seemed fairly 
common. We saw one on our way across, 
and two engines which had toppled over the 
embankment marked the site of at least one 
other. 

As regards the Rockies, it must be admitted 
that the effect of their real height is taken 



TO VANCOUVER ISLAND 11 

away by the gradual rise in level as one crosses 
the plains. 

Calgary, where the mountains are first ap- 
proached, stands at 3,428 feet above sea- 
level. 

All things come to an end, and the morning 
of July 24th found us steaming into the city 
of Vancouver, glad that the weary journey was 
at last over. 

The town of Vancouver is beautifully situ- 
ated on the Mainland overlooking the Straits 
of Georgia. 

I am glad, after my criticisms of the Canadian 
Pacific Railway, to testify to the comfort and 
moderate charges of the Canadian Pacific 
Railway Hotel at Vancouver. 

A charming bedroom with bathroom at- 
tached cost only 5 dollars, all meals included. 
Excellent beer, locally brewed, was cheap, and 
a bottle of Californian Chianti, quite a drink- 
able wine, cost only a dollar, so there was 
nothing to complain of. 

My waiter happened to be an Irishman, and 
he took quite a personal interest in my com- 
fort, whispering into my ear in the most 
confidential manner the dishes of the day that 
he recommended as the best. 

On a day's acquaintance, claiming me as a 
countryman, he confided to me his story. His 



12 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

father had been manager of a bank in Ireland, 
and he was sent abroad to settle in Canada. 

Starting on a farm, and, according to his 
own story, doing well, a fire destroyed his 
house and farm implements. Drifting through 
various stages, he arrived at his present posi- 
tion, with which he seemed quite content. He 
was married, and lived outside the hotel. 
Fishing was his passion, and every spare moment 
was devoted to it. 

He was really a most entertaining com- 
panion, with a keen sense of humour, and he 
made the meal-time pass very pleasantly, for 
he never ceased chatting. 

A run by steamer to Seattle to see some 
friends, gave me a glimpse of Victoria and the 
exquisite scenery of the trip from Vancouver 
to Seattle. 

At Vancouver I had the pleasure of making 
the acquaintance of Mr. Bryan Williams, the 
Provincial Game Warden of British Columbia, 
with whom I had been already in correspond- 
ence, and to whom I was indebted for much 
valuable assistance and advice. 

A true sportsman, his heart is in his job, 
and if he only be given a free hand and ade- 
quate funds, the preservation of game in British 
Columbia will be in safe hands. 

The licence, 100 dollars, is not a heavy one, 



TO VANCOUVER ISLAND 13 

but I think it might with justice be graduated, 
fixing one sum, say 50 dollars, for Vancouver 
Island, where only wapiti, an occasional bear 
and deer are found, and imposing the higher 
licence for the Mainland, to include moose, 
mountain sheep, goat, caribou and grizzly bear. 

One would have thought that in the city 
of Vancouver, the centre of a great angling 
country, every requirement of the fisherman 
would have been found. The contrary was 
the case. 

Fortunately I had brought my own fishing- 
tackle, for in the best sporting shop in the town 
I could not obtain a suitable spare fishing-line. 

Rods, reels, lines, flies and baits were in- 
ferior in workmanship as compared to what one 
is accustomed at home. 

I therefore strongly recommend any fisher- 
man to bring all his tackle from home. In 
the case of rods, reels and lines. New York 
may have better, as I shall show when I come 
to discuss the question of tackle later on. 

From the manager of the Bank of Montreal, 
to whom I had a letter of introduction, I met 
with great courtesy financially as well as 
socially, and I became free of the excellent 
Vancouver Club, so charmingly situated, and 
only regretted that my short stay prevented 
my availing myself more of its hospitality. 



VANCOUVER TO THE CAMPBELL 
RIVER 



CHAPTER II 

VANCOUVER TO THE CAMPBELL RIVER 

The morning of July 29th found me on 
board the Queen City, the small but most com- 
fortable steamer of the Canadian Pacific Rail- 
way running north to the Campbell River and 
beyond. 

The Captain was a delightful companion, 
patriotic to a degree, and regretting what he 
considered the neglect shown by the Old 
Country to the Dominion of Canada, when 
American and Canadian interests were at 
issue. 

The steamer was well found and well man- 
aged, while the Captain's skill in approaching 
our various stopping-places, often dangerous 
coves with no lights, at any time of the night 
and in any weather, was to me a continual 
source of admiration. I travelled with him 
three times, and never wish for a more charm- 
ing host or a Captain that inspired more con- 
fidence as a navigator. 

We arrived at the Campbell River Pier at 

the unearthly hour of 1 a.m. The proprietor, 
c 17 



18 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

however, was on the pier waiting with lanterns 
to show us the way up to the Willows Hotel, 
where I was to spend a happy month. 

The Willows Hotel, beautifully situated on 
the Valdez Straits within a few yards of the 
sea, is all that a sportsman could desire. Clean, 
well-furnished bedrooms, a bathroom and quite 
a decent table, all for the moderate sum of 
2 dollars a day. 

The proprietor did not quite realize the fact 
that the majority of the guests came for the 
fishing, and not for the food. 

The lady who directed the establishment 
seemed to think the latter the more important. 

The breakfast bell rang at 6 a.m., and break- 
fast was served from 6 to 8 a.m. Lunch or 
dinner from 12 to 2 p.m., and supper from 6 
to 8 p.m. 

Woe betide the guest who broke the rules 
of the house as regards the hours, for he was 
expected to lose his meal. 

In those glorious autumn evenings when it 
was light up to 10 o'clock, the manageress 
forgot that a keen fisherman might stay out 
till 9 or even 10, if the fish were taking. 

Dinner he could not expect, but a cold 
supper, if ordered beforehand, might have been 
laid out in the dining-room. Nor could attend- 
ance be looked for; servants were few and 



VANCOUVER TO CAMPBELL RIVER 19 

overworked, and it was but natural they should 
like to go to bed at 10 o'clock, or be free to 
wander in the woods or along the foreshore 
with the special young man of the moment. 

By making love to the manageress and the 
Chinese cook, I generally succeeded in finding 
something to eat if I was late, but I often 
had to forage for myself in the kitchen, and 
on one occasion came back to find a plate 
of very indifferent sandwiches laid out for 
supper. 

Morning tea in one's bedroom was pro- 
hibited. I should therefore advise any one 
addicted to the habit of early morning tea, 
to provide himself with a " Thermos " bottle, 
and fill it overnight — besides which, if very 
enthusiastic, a start might sometimes be made 
at 4 a.m., when a cup of hot tea and a biscuit 
make all the difference to one's feelings of 
comfort. 

The hotel was a strange mixture of civiliza- 
tion and discomfort. 

We had written menus of which I give a 
specimen below, but I had to grease my own 
boots and wash my own clothes, until I found 
an Indian squaw in the adjoining village who 
for an exorbitant charge relieved me of my 
washing, though I greased my boots till the 
end of my stay. 

C 2 



20 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

THE WILLOWS HOTEL. 
Menu. Dinner. 

Soup. 
Puree of Split Pea. 

Fish. 

Baked Salmon (Spanish). 

Boiled Cod. Lobster Sauce. 

Entries. 

Beef Hot Pot. 

Pig's Head a la Printaniere. 

Macaroni au Gratin. 

Boiled. 

Boiled Ox Tongue. Kipper Sauce. 

Boiled Ham. 

Boast. 

Roast Beef. Horse-radish. 

Roast Pork. Apple Sauce. 

Roast Mutton. Jelly. 

Salad. 

Sliced Beets. 

Fish Salad. 

Vegetables. 

Boiled Mashed Potatoes. 

Green Peas. 

Dessert. 
Snow Pudding. Peach Pie. 

Apple Pie. Stewed Rhubarb. 

The drawback to the hotel was the logging 
camp in the neighbourhood. 



VANCOUVER TO CAMPBELL RIVER 21 

The bar of the hotel was about fifty yards 
from the hotel itself, in a separate building, 
and on Saturday night many of the loggers 
came dropping in to waste the earnings of the 
week. Drunkenness on these occasions was 
far too common, and till the small hours of 
the morning the sound of revelry from the bar 
was not conducive to a good night's rest. 

Some of the characters who frequented the 
bar were weird in the extreme, and when fairly 
" full " — as the local expression was — the hotel 
was not inviolate to them. One who par- 
ticularly interested me might have been taken 
out of one of Fenimore Cooper's novels. My 
acquaintance with him was made on the hotel 
verandah. With a friendly feeling born of 
much whisky, he placed his arm on my shoulder, 
and assured me that although if he had his 
rights he would be a Lord, he did not disdain 
the acquaintanceship of a commoner like my- 
self; in fact, that he had seldom seen a man 
to whom he had taken such a fancy, or with 
whom he would more willingly tramp the 
woods, if I would only give him the pleasure 
of my company in his trapper's hut some few 
miles inland. His suggestion that our friend- 
ship should be cemented by an adjournment to 
the bar did not meet with the ready acceptance 
he expected, which evidently disappointed 



22 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

him, for he could not grasp the fact that 
any one hving could refuse a drink. 

Poor " Lord B.," as he was called, was only 
his own enemy. As I always addressed him 
" My Lord," which he took quite seriously, 
we became quite pals. 

A trapper and prospector by profession, he 
had a fair education, and wlien sober was a 
shrewd man of the local world, which confmed 
itself to prospecting for minerals and cruising 
timber claims. 

Persistently drunk for two or three days at 
a time, he would suddenly sober down, put a 
pack on his back which few men could carry, 
and disappear into the woods to his lonely log 
cabin, only to return in a few days ready for 
a fresh spree. At least, this was his life while 
I stayed at the hotel, for in one month he 
appeared three times. 

No doubt during the winter, when occupied 
with his traps, he could neither afford the time 
nor the money for an hotel visit. 

He was wizened in appearance and lightly 
built, but as hard as nails. Dishevelled to 
look at when on the spree, as soon as it was all 
over he became a different character, appear- 
ing in neat, clean clothes, and full of reminis- 
cences of backwoods life. He was always a 
subject of interest to me, and, poor fellow, 



VANCOUVER TO CAMPBELL RIVER 23 

like many others on the west coast, only his 
own enemy. 

Another frequenter of the bar had been on 
the Variety stage in London, and his step- 
dancing when fairly primed with whisky was 
something to see and remember. 

We were a pleasant party at the hotel. 
Some came only for the fishing, some en route 
for Alaska or elsewhere on the Mainland for 
the coming shooting season, others returning 
from sporting expeditions in far lands. 

We had J. G. Millais, the well-known 
naturalist and author of the most charming 
book ever written on Newfoundland, bound for 
Alaska in search of record moose and caribou. 

Colonel Atherton, who, starting from India, 
had recently crossed Central Asia and obtained 
some splendid trophies, the photographs of 
which made us all envious. 

F. Grey Griswold from New York, of tarpon 
fame, come to try his luck with the tyee salmon, 
and good luck it was, which such a good 
sportsman deserved. 

Mr. Daggett, an enthusiastic angler from 
Sajt Lake City, who took plaster casts of his 
fish, and was apparently an old habitue of the 
hotel. 

Powell and a young undergraduate friend 
Stern, also bound for Alaska, just starting on 



24 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

the glorious life of sport, with little experience 
— ^that was to come — but who with the tyee 
salmon were as good as any of us, and whose 
keenness spoke well for the future. 

It was curious that in such a small community 
three of us, the Colonel, Millais and I, had 
fished in Iceland, and many interesting chats 
we had about the sport in that fascinating 
island. 

As the sun went down, the boats began to 
come in, and all interest was concentrated on 
the beach, where the fish were brought to be 
weighed on the very inaccurate steelyard set 
up on a shaky tripod by the hotel proprietor. 

Any one reading Sir Richard Musgrave's 
article in the Field, would be led to believe 
that the fishing was in the Campbell River 
itself. 

Whatever it may have been in his time, 
the river is now practically useless from the 
fisherman's point of view. This is due to the 
logging camp in the vicinity, for the river for 
about a mile from its mouth is practically 
blocked with great rafts of enormous logs. 
The logs are discharged into the river with a 
roar and a crash, enough to frighten every 
fish out of the water; the rafts when formed 
are towed down to Vancouver. 

The river no doubt was a fine one till the 



VANCOUVER TO CAMPBELL RIVER 25 

logging business was established, and it is 
possible that late in the autumn fish may run 
up to spawn — but during the entire month of 
August, I personally never saw a salmon of 
any kind in the river itself. 

Flowing out of the Campbell lake a few miles 
away, its course is very rapid, and it falls into 
the sea about one and a half miles north of 
the hotel. 

The falls, impassable for fish, can be visited 
in a long day's walk from the hotel. The dis- 
tance is not great, but the impenetrable 
character of the Vancouver forest makes the 
walk a very fatiguing one. It is most regret- 
table that no track has been cleared along the 
banks, to enable the water to be fished and to 
give access to the falls, which I am told are 
very beautiful. 

I endeavoured to reach them by the river, 
but spent most of the day up to my waist in 
water, hauling my boat through the rapids, and 
then only got half-way and saw no fish. 

Below the falls, there is a fine deep pool in 
which Mr. Layard, who described his trip in 
the Field, states he saw the great tyee salmon 
" in droves." He does not say at what time 
of the year he visited the falls or whether the 
logging camp then existed. It must have been 
late in the season, for he describes the swarms 



26 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

of duck and wild geese, the seals that were a 
perfect plague, the sea-lions that were seen 
several times, and the bear, panther (cougar), 
deer and willow grouse in the immediate 
vicinity of the hotel. 

I can only give my personal experiences 
during the month of August. 

Forgetting that the shooting season did not 
begin till September 1st, I took with me 
300 cartridges and never fired a shot, nor did 
I see anything to shoot at. A few duck were 
occasionally seen flying down the Straits be- 
tween Vancouver and Valdez Island, but the 
seals, sea-lions and other game described by 
Mr. Layard were conspicuous by their absence 
in the month of August. No doubt later on, 
in September and October, different conditions 
may prevail, but August is the month yar 
excellence for the fisherman and he may leave 
his gun behind. 

The tide runs up the river for about 800 
yards from the mouth, where there was some 
water free from logs and rafts. Some good 
sport with the cut-throat trout was to be had, 
more especially at spring tides. 

My best catch was fourteen weighing 16J R3. 

The water was intensely clear; careful wading, 
long casting and very fine tackle were necessary 
to obtain any sport. 



VANCOUVER TO CAMPBELL RIVER 27 

The cut-throat trout appeared to me to 
resemble the sea trout in its habits, hanging 
about the mouth of the river and running up 
with the tide, many falhng back on the turn 
of the tide, but a certain number running up 
and remaining in the upper reaches. 

The largest I killed, 5 Ife., was immediately 
in front of the hotel, in the sea itself, one and a 
half miles from the river, and he took a spoon 
intended for a tyee salmon. 

They were most sporting fish and were ex- 
cellent eating, differing in this respect from the 
salmon. I only regretted I did not give more 
time to them, but we all suffered from the same 
disease, that desire to get the 70 lb. fish, or at 
least something bigger than any yet brought 
to the gaff. 

I started with the best intentions, and talked 
over with Mr. Williams at Vancouver the 
possibility of inducing the tyee salmon to take 
the fly, denouncing, as all true fishermen must 
do, the monotony of trolling for big fish with 
a colossal spoon and a six-ounce lead, which 
takes away half the pleasure of the sport. 

All the same I found myself sacrificing my 
principles to the hope of the monster fish which 
never came, but was always a possibility. 

The Straits between Vancouver Island and 
Valdez Island are about two miles broad, and 



28 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

through them runs a tide against which it is 
almost impossible to row a boat. 

The favourite fishing-ground was about 300 
yards north and south of the mouth of the 
river, and tides had to be seriously considered 
in getting on to the water. 

Another good spot neglected by most of us, 
except the Salt Lake City angler, was just 
opposite the Indian Cemetery about a mile 
from the hotel. 

Here, in one morning, I killed three large 
fish on my way back to the hotel from the 
more favourite ground which I had fished all 
the morning in vain. 

South of the hotel and down to the Cape 
Mudge Lighthouse, about four miles away, a 
few tyee salmon were to be met with, but in 
the water all along Valdez Island and near the 
lighthouse, the cohoe salmon were in abund- 
ance, and it was the favourite spot for the 
Indian fishermen who were fishing for the 
salmon cannery at Quatiaski. 



THE FISH AT THE CAMPBELL RIVER 



CHAPTER III 

THE FISH AT THE CAMPBELL RIVER 

Different names have been given by differ- 
ent sportsmen to the salmon found on the 
Pacific Coast. 

Sir R. Musgrave talks of spring salmon of 
53 lb. and silver salmon of 16 and 8 lib. 

I inquired carefully from the manager of the 
Cannery Factory in Quatiaski Cove, and be- 
lieve the following to be the correct nomen- 
clature. 

The tyee or King salmon, running from 28 lb. 
to 60 and upwards. 

The spring salmon, which appeared to me to 
be the young tyee, having the same relation 
to the big tyee as the grilse has to the salmon, 
from 15 to 20 lb. 

The cohoe, which run from 7 to 12 lb. ; and 
lastly the blue back, generally termed cohoe, 
averaging about 6 lb. 

These latter most of us called cohoe, and were 
the fish being caught on my arrival at the hotel. 

The run of tyee had not regularly set in, 
though a few odd ones were being caught. 

31 



82 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Later on, when making a trip on the Cannery 
steamer which collects fish daily from various 
stations up and down the coast, the manager 
of the factory, who was on board, pointed out 
to me amongst the hundreds of fish we collected, 
the difference between the blue back and the 
real cohoe. 

The former runs much earlier than the 
latter, and is seldom over 6 fb. in weight ; the 
latter were, he stated, just beginning to run — 
then the middle of August — and the largest on 
board weighed 14 Ife. 

It was not, however, till my return from 
Vancouver that I came across the volume on 
Salmon and Trout of the American Sports- 
man's Library, edited by Caspar Whitman, and 
there found recorded all that is known about 
the salmon and trout of the Pacific Coast. 

To begin with, the Pacific salmon does not 
belong to the genus " Salmo," but to the genus 
" Oncorhynchus," which, according to Messrs. 
C. H. Townsend and H. W. Smith, the authors 
of the most interesting chapters on the Pacific 
salmon in the above-mentioned book, is peculiar 
to the Pacific Coast. 

One peculiarity of the Pacific salmon seems 
to be that they invariably die after spawning, 
and never return to the sea. 

In the case of the humpback, I saw this for 



FISH AT THE CAMPBELL RIVER 33 

myself later on in the season, when every stream 
was literally a mass of moving fish all pushing 
up to the head- waters, and there dying in vast 
numbers. 

The tyee salmon, " Oncorhynchus tschawyt- 
scha," has many names. It is known to the 
Indians as " Chinook," " tyee " and " quinnat," 
to others as the Columbia salmon, the Sacra- 
mento and King salmon. 

It appears to range from Monterey Bay, 
California, as far north as Alaska. 

Messrs. Townsend and Smith state that in 
the Yukon and Norton Sounds it attains a 
weight of 110 lb., and in the Columbia 80 lb. 

The largest I saw caught at Campbell River 
weighed close on 70 tfe. The largest fish brought 
to the hotel by any of us was about 60 tb. 

The blue back salmon, " Oncorhynchus 
Nerka," is stated by the same authorities to run 
up to 15 tb., and the average to be under 5 lb. 

This would appear from its description to 
correspond with the fish pointed out to me by 
the Cannery manager as blue back — though 
I cannot quite reconcile its other names : red 
fish, red salmon, Eraser River salmon and 
Sockeye — for the fishermen at Campbell River 
spoke of the Sockeye as quite a different fish, 
running at a different season of the year. 

No doubt, however, the scientists are right. 

D 



34 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

I only wish I had known of this valuable book 
before instead of after my visit. 

Another of the " Oncorhynchi " is the hump- 
back, " Oncorhynchus Gorbuscha," averaging 
about 5 ife. 

I only saw one caught on the rod at Campbell 
River. 

At the mouth of the Oyster River, some 
miles south, I saw them one evening in in- 
credible numbers, and though right in the 
middle of immense shoals, I could not get them 
to look at fly or spoon. A few yards up the 
river they were said sometimes to take the fly. 

The silver salmon, " Oncorhynchus Kisutch," 
known also as " Kisutch," " Skowitz," Hoopid 
and lastly Cohoe, is stated to attain a weight 
of 30 lb. — the average weight being about 
8 lb. As stated before, the largest I saw was 
14 Sb. and the largest I caught 12 lb. 

The above being the fish I met with at 
Campbell River, I need not enter into the other 
varieties. One interesting fact mentioned in 
the book to which I am indebted for all the 
above information is that the steel-head salmon 
is one of the " Salmonidse." " Salmo Gaird- 
nerii " differs from all other Pacific salmon, 
in that it alone returns to the sea after spawn- 
ing, thus following the habits of the true 
" Salmonidse." 



FISH AT THE CAMPBELL RIVER 35 

The only trout I came across at Campbell 
River or throughout my trip was that known 
as the cut-throat, so called from the red slash 
on the throat. 

On turning to Mr. Wilson's article on " The 
Trout of America," I was surprised to find that 
there were thirteen varieties of this fish, but 
so far as I could identify those I caught, they 
must come under the heading of " Salmo 
Clarkii," the cut-throat or Columbia River 
trout. 

After many inquiries and after having 
visited the aquarium at New York, I was led 
to believe that my fish was the " Salmo 
Clarkii Pleuriticus," but as those I caught 
had no lateral red band they must have been 
the " Salmo Clarkii." 

The largest I caught weighed 5 lb., and, as 
I have mentioned before, it was caught in the 
sea on a large spoon one and a half miles from 
the river, when trolling for tyee. 

The number of fish which frequent the 
Campbell River waters is almost incredible. 
When it is realized that between one and two 
thousand salmon of the various kinds are 
collected daily by the Cannery launch, and that 
all these have been caught with rod and hand- 
line — the great majority with hand-line — some 
idea may be formed of their numbers. 

D 2 



36 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

No one fishing at the Campbell River should 
miss the trip, which through the courtesy of 
the manager at Quatiaski Cove is always 
possible, of going with the Cannery steam- 
launch on its daily round collecting fish at the 
various stations, north and south. 

Starting from Quatiaski early in the morning, 
the run is down to Cape Mudge, where perhaps 
thirty or forty boats, mostly Indian, have been 
working their hand-lines the evening before. 
From Cape Mudge up to the Seymour Narrows, 
about seven miles, many calls are made. 

Picturesque Indian camps are numerous all 
along the shore, and at each of these a stop is 
made. The canoes come crowding alongside, 
and the fish are checked as they are thrown 
into the deep well in the centre of the launch. 

Each Indian has a book in which is entered 
to his credit the number of his fish, and the 
launch passes on to the next collecting station, 
to which single canoes from all sides are gather- 
ing. On the return the boats of the successful 
hotel fishermen stop the launch and hand over 
their catch, for the fish caught are the per- 
quisites of the men who row the boats. 

On the day I made the trip we collected 
about 1,500 salmon. 

The business of the Cannery must be a profit- 
able one. So far as I could gather there were 



FISH AT THE CAMPBELL RIVER 37 

but two prices : 50 cents for a tyee, no matter 
what his weight was, and 10 cents for each 
smaller fish. 

Associated with the Cannery is a general 
store kept by the Cannery owners, and pay- 
ment is partly made in goods, so the Cannery 
has the double profit, first on the fish and then 
on the goods bartered in exchange. 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 




'^., 



iiim^ 



mwft 



••■^••* *>%r. 



THE INDIAN CEMETERY, CAMPBELL RIVER 




k. y . i- - - :i'^>»;--- '4.' 

A morning's catch. 101b., 41) lb.. 47 ll>., 58 1b. 



[To face page 41. 



CHAPTER IV 

SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 

July 30th I looked forward to as a red-letter 
day in my life, for was I not to have my first 
chance for that 70 fb. fish, about which I had 
dreamt for so many years ? 

The early morning (we were all up at 6 a.m.) 
was spent in getting my tackle ship-shape, and, 
most important of all, in engaging the services 
of a good boatman — for on his strength and 
willingness to " buck the tide," as they happily 
term rowing against the strong tidal currents, 
depends largely the chance of success. 

The man I selected was a fine boatman. 
Keen on getting fish — jealous of all others of 
his craft, and with a capacity for bucking about 
himself, and what he had done and could do, 
which I have seldom seen equalled. 

His command of strong and even highly 
flavoured language was remarkable, but a little 
of it went a long way. When I asked his name, 
he replied, " Every one calls me Billy." No 
one on the West coast seems to have a surname, 
so" Billy " he was to me for all my fishing days. 

41 



42 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Billy was, I should say, about twenty-three 
years of age, slightly built, but extraordinarily 
strong with an oar. His temper was not of the 
best, and when I lost a fish he always considered 
that I was to blame, and resented the unfor- 
tunate fact as if it were a personal insult to his 
own powers as a boatman. 

I don't believe he ever thought of the 
Cannery or of the sum which under happier 
auspices would have stood to his credit. His 
pay was three dollars a day (125.) plus the 
value of the fish. His appetite corresponded 
with his pay, which was large. 

He was willing to row all day long with 
suitable intervals for his meals — but any at- 
tempt to keep him on the water at meal-time 
was somewhat sulkily resented. 

We fished together for some thirty days, 
more or less harmoniously, and there was only 
one great explosion which threatened to sever 
our connection. 

Through his gross stupidity my boat, which 
was being towed behind the Cannery launch, 
was upset, and I had the pleasure of seeing 
all my fishing-tackle, fly-books, the com- 
panions of years — all my pet flies, spoons, 
spring balance — sunk in sixty feet of water — 
£20 worth of tackle gone in a moment. 

Fortunately I had taken my rod and camera 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 43 

on board the launch, or they, too, would have 
been lost. 

It was injra dig. that he should express any 
regret, and very unreasonable from his point 
of view that I should show any annoyance, 
which I did in what I considered very moderate 
terms, considering the provocation. 

On landing, he suggested that I did not seem 
satisfied with him, which was quite true, and 
that " Joe," a hated rival, was disengaged and 
available. 

I very nearly took him at his word and 
" fired him out " — but we made it up somehow, 
and he remained my boatman, though I never 
quite forgave the loss of so much valuable 
tackle. 

Fortunately I had only a few more fishing 
days left and had some spare tackle to replace 
what was gone. 

Our opening day was simply glorious, a 
bright sun and a crispness in the air which made 
one feel that it was good to be alive. 

The scenery was exquisite. The sea calm 
as a mill-pond, only broken by the oily swirls of 
the rushing tide, and then there was the possi- 
bility of that long-hoped-for big fish, who did 
not come that day, though every pull from a 
cohoe might have been him. 

Billy was positively polite, as it was his first 



44 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

day. Why many of these West coast men 
should imagine that politeness means servility, 
while roughness and rudeness only show 
equality and independence of character, I 
never could understand. 

It was not long before I was in a fish, but as 
he was only a 5| ife. cohoe, he was hauled in 
with scant ceremony and was soon in the 
net. 

As I shall have something to say about 
tackle later on, I would only now mention 
that I was fishing with a fourteen-foot Deeside 
spinning rod, made by Blacklaw of Kincardine. 

I had a large Nottingham reel with 200 
yards of tarpon line, purchased in England, 
not, alas ! in New York ; a heavy gut trace 
with large brass swivels which would have 
frightened any but a Vancouver salmon; a 
4 oz. lead, I afterwards came to a 6 oz., and 
one of Farlow's spoons specially made for the 
tastes of Vancouver salmon. 

My bag that day, fishing morning and 
evening, was only six cohoe, weighing 30J lb. 
and one cod about 5 lb. I never had a pull 
from a tyee. 

The row home that evening compensated for 
everything. The sun was setting behind the 
snow-covered peaks of the Vancouver Moun- 
tains, bare and cold below the snow-line, but 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 45 

gradually clothed with foliage down the slopes 
till the dense pine forest of the plain between 
the mountains and the sea was reached, from 
which the evening mists were beginning to rise. 
In the foreground, the sea, like molten glass, 
reflected the exquisite colouring of the northern 
sunset, its surface broken by the eddies of the 
making tide, or the occasional splash of a 
leaping salmon. Across the Straits on the 
Mainland, the tops of the great mountains 
clothed with eternal snow were lit up a rose- 
pink by the rays of the setting sun. 

I have seldom seen a more beautiful scene, 
or one which gave such a deep sense of peace. 
There was a grandeur and immensity about it 
which satisfied one's very soul, it amply justi- 
fied the realization of the call of the wild which 
had brought me so many thousand miles to 
those distant shores. 

The morning of the 31st found me late in 
starting, as I had to interview Cecil Smith, who 
was to be my guide, companion and friend on 
my hunting trip in September. 

On that morning, I got only two cohoes of 
5J and 4| ib., one spring salmon of 9 ft., and 
as there was evidently no take on, I went up 
the river for a short time. I saw no salmon, 
but landed three cut-throat trout weighing 
3J lb., one a good fish of 2 tb. 



46 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

On the way home to luncheon I killed a 
20 lb. fish — a small tyee, and going out for 
half-an-hour in the evening after dinner lost a 
heavy fish. 

Bad luck as regards the big fish still pursued 
me. It was true the big run of tyee had not 
yet begun, but a few were being taken from day 
to day. 

On the morning of August 1st I hooked a 
heavy fish, but in his second big race, the line 
slipped over the drum of the Nottingham reel 
and the inevitable break came. 

My catch that day was only three cohoes 
and three cut-throat trout. 

A very high north wind blowing against the 
tide raised a heavy swell, and fishing was 
impossible in the afternoon. 

August 2nd, I fished all the morning without 
getting a pull, so decided to try to go up the 
river to the falls, which attempt, as previously 
described, was not a success. 

Returning to the sea in the afternoon I found 
Griswold with three fine fish, of 59, 45 and 
40 fb. I landed a small tyee of 30j Ife. and 
four cohoe weighing 20 lib. 

On August 3rd, I got my first good fish of 
53 ife. and another of 42 tfe. The tide was 
running strong and the 53 lb. fish took out 
about 120 yards of line, but eventually I got 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 47 

him in hand, when he made two wild runs — 
threw himself clean out of the water each time 
and then went to the bottom like a stone and 
sulked. 

It took me just under an hour to kill that 
fish, and I found that he was foul hooked on the 
side of the head. 

The 42 ife. fish was a lively one and tired 
himself out by repeated runs — he never got to 
the bottom and in about fifteen minutes he 
came to the gaff. 

In addition to the two tyee, I had seven 
cohoe weighing 46J lb., so luck was beginning 
to turn. 

August 4th was a great day. Four tyee, 
45, 44 J, 42 J and 35 fb. ; one cohoe, 6 lb.; 
one cut-throat trout, 5 tb., a picture of a fish ; 
one sea trout, 2 ft., and one cod, 5 lb. ; all 
before two o'clock. 

There was a big take in the evening, and I 
missed it by getting out too late. 

Griswold had five tyee, the largest 47 lb. ; I 
came in for the tail end of the take and only 
picked up eight cohoe, weighing 43| tb., and 
one spring salmon, 13 tb. Total weight for 
the day : 240i tb. 

August 5th. I had two tyee, 45 and 37 tb., 
and sixteen cohoe averaging about 6 tb., and 
so on day after day, with varying luck and 



48 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

always hoping for that 70 ib. fish which never 
came. 

On August 10th, I got my second biggest 
fish. The spring tides were racing up and down 
the Straits and it was impossible to hold a boat, 
much less row it against the tide. 

By this time from a study of the bottom, at 
low water, I had a fair idea of how the fish ran 
up and down with the tide. I accordingly 
anchored my boat off a point I knew the fish 
were bound to pass. The anchor was fixed 
on to a log of wood to which the boat was 
moored by a running knot. It was Billy's 
duty to cast off the moment I was in a fish. 

The greatest race of the tide was at about half 
flood, and the current was so strong that the 
heavy spoon and 6 oz. lead were swept away 
like a cork. Letting out about thirty yards of 
line and giving Billy the rod to hold, I began 
casting with the fly, using a fourteen- foot 
Castleconnell rod, fine tackle and a two- inch 
silver doctor. I soon had a sea trout, 2h Ife., 
and two cohoe, besides many rises, and grand 
sport these fish gave in the racing tide on a light 
rod. 

I had just killed my last fish when the scream 
of the reel on the rod which Billy was holding 
told me we were in a big fish. Taking the rod 
from Billy, I told him to cast off. The fish 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 49 

was racing up with the tide some 150 yards 
away, but the rope was fouled, or Billy bungled, 
and the result was a smash. 

Hardly had I got out another spoon when I 
was in another fish. I was evidently lying in 
their track. This time we got away, and how 
that fish raced ! Before I knew where I was we 
were up about a mile, being literally towed by 
him on the flowing tide before I could get him 
in hand. I eventually killed him, almost 
opposite the hotel, one and a half miles from 
where I had hooked him : weight, 59 fb. 

In the evening I got two tyee of 47 and 
46 lb. The big fish's measurements were : 
length, 47 J inches; greatest girth, 31 1 inches, 
and girth round the anal fin, 22 inches. 

The well-known formula for estimating the 
weight of a fish from measurement is as 
follows — 

girth- X leneth . , . 

s 2 — = weight. 

800 * 

Applying this formula, the weight worked 
out just 59 Hb., which the scales corroborated. 
The weighing machine, an old rusty steelyard, 
set up on the beach in front of the hotel, left a 
good deal to be desired; but I had a spring 
balance weighing up to 60 ft., which I tested 
at the local store and found to be quite accurate. 



50 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

On August 24th heavy clouds were pihng up, 
and a break in the glorious weather we had 
enjoyed from the beginning of August seemed 
imminent. 

On August 26th, my last day at the hotel, I 
started to fish in a heavy gale from the south- 
east, the worst wind one could have in these 
waters. 

Though leaving that night and having all my 
packing to do, I determined to have one last 
try for the big fish which had so far evaded me. 

There was a heavy sea on and it was almost 
impossible to hold the boat, but Billy was on 
his mettle for the last day's fishing and really 
did wonders. 

On the way down to the mouth of the river, 
I got a 10 lb. cohoe, and on arriving at the best 
ground I put on a big brass spoon, which Mr. 
Daggett had kindly lent me, about twice as long 
as the Farlow spoon. I was letting out the 
spoon when I got a tremendous pull and a very 
short run, which apparently took the fish to 
the bottom or into some kelp. There he 
remained and simply sulked without taking out 
a yard of line. 

The rod was bent double and I put on all the 
strain possible, but it was a full three-quarters 
of an hour before I could see my lead coming up 
to the surface, and my arms and back were 




'''t^i-^,^'^# 



jJWii-**!!©?^ 



TWO GOOD FISH. 53 ft., 42 It). 




A 601b. FISH 



[To face page 50. 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 51 

aching. How the rod did not break I cannot 
understand, for the fish came up gradually 
from straight under the boat ; but at last I had 
the gaff in the biggest but least sporting fish 
I had killed during the month. He weighed 
59 J tb. at the hotel, having lost a good deal of 
blood, and must have been over 60 Ife. when he 
came out of the water. The brass spoon was 
either bitten or broken in half. 

Having killed forty-one tyee, fished steadily 
for a month, and seen most of the fish that were 
caught, I do not think many fish over 60 lb. are 
killed. One fish caught by a hand-line and 
small spoon by a young settler named Pidcock, 
I weighed, and he must have been close on 
70 lb. My spring balance went down with a 
rush to its limit of 60 lb., and I heard after- 
wards that when weighed at the Cannery it 
scaled 68 tb., so when fresh must have been 
close on 70 lb. This was the biggest fish I saw 
on the coast. 

Farther north there are other fishing grounds 
well worth a visit, where the fish are said to run 
up to 100 lb. — such are the Kitimaat River 
and McCallister's Bay at the entrance to 
Gardner Canal, about four hundred miles north 
of Campbell River. 

A steamer runs direct to Kitimaat and 
Hartley Bay once a month. Accommodation 

E 2 



52 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

can be had at Kitimaat, but a camp is necessary 
at McCallister's Bay. Fish run as early as 
May. Campbell River is getting too well 
known, and there are too many boats on the 
water. 

The following amusing description of an 
evening's fishing is from the clever pen of 
J. G. Millais, and was published in Country 
Life. I venture to reproduce it — 

" Amidst gorgeous sunset hues we went to 
fish the usual beat opposite the Indian village 
on August 11th. The sun had already set, 
when of a sudden a suppressed excitement ran 
through the boats. A fresh run of tyee were 
in and had begun to take. Three or four 
Indians were ' fast ' at once, and yells for help 
came down the line. In a moment, while close 
to the beacon stake at the mouth of the river, 
Mr. Powell, Sir John Rogers and I were ' into ' 
fish at the same moment. 

" Then the circus began. ' Look out there ; 
don't you see I'm fast ? ' ' Confound you ; 
get up your line, or I'll be over you.' ' Gang- 
way, gangway,' ' Where the devil are you 
coming to ! ' ' Mind your oars,' ' He's off to 
the tide. Hurry ' (Mac or Bill, as the case 
might be) ; ' row like blazes,' were a few of the 
cries that broke from excited anglers, while 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 53 

even phlegmatic Indians grinned or yelled 
* tyee, tyee ' in sympathetic encouragement. 
We all cleared each other somehow. I do not 
quite know how. Sir John was whisked 
straight out to sea, and was a quarter of a mile 
off in no time. Mr. Powell broke, while my 
fish, to my horror, went straight for the beacon. 
I lugged at him to steer clear, and he took the 
hint so forcibly that he burnt my finger on the 
line with the rush he made for the deep water. 
It was like poor Dan Leno's hunting song, 
' Away, away and away. I don't know where 
we're going to, but away and away and away.' 
We could hear men laughing and joking in the 
darkness behind, and then in a moment we 
were out of it all in the silence of the boiling 
tide. Mac was a good boatman, and the way 
he followed that tyee in the eight-knot current 
did him credit. This was the strongest fish I 
have ever hooked. He seemed to do with us 
just what he chose, and we, like sheep, had to 
follow. If he had carried out his first laudable 
intention of a visit to Queen Charlotte Islands 
he might have defeated us, but seemingly he 
altered his plan and made a fierce hundred 
yards' run for the curl of the current at the 
mouth of the Campbell River. Here there 
were nasty lumps of floating kelp, and the two 
anglers fishing there received our return land- 



54 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

wards with shouts of warning. In the gloom 
I could see by their attitudes that they were 
intensely interested in our welfare, for the next 
best thing to playing a fish yourself is to watch 
another at the game. Then began a series of 
' magnificent cruises.' It is part of the interest 
in salmon-fishing that the fish you have ' on ' 
is infinitely larger than anything previously 
hooked. Generally it is a pleasant delusion; 
but sometimes it is true, and then the con- 
flicting emotions of the play and the thrill of 
subsequent capture are something to live for. 

" My fish was, I knew, the biggest I had ever 
hooked, so one had to follow the same old ways 
of playing him, coupled with such extra force 
as that stout tackle warranted. After every 
great circuit of the boat I resorted to all sorts 
of devices for tiring my antagonist, but he 
refused to give in or to allow me to shorten 
the line. But my fish was as gallant a fighter 
as ever was hatched, and the better the fighter 
the quicker he kills himself. Half-an-hour has 
elapsed and I see the lead six feet up the line 
for the first time. Soon we shall see back and 
tail. Yes, there they are, and what a monster. 
He must be 60 lb. at least. At last he shows 
side, and that is the beginning of the end. 
Mac, an indifferent gaffer under the most 
favourable circumstances, now surpasses him- 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 55 

self in the fields of incompetence. He makes 
one or two feeble shots, and then, getting the 
gaff well home, attempts to lift the fish as I 
throw my weight on to the reverse side of the 
light boat to prevent an upset. He heaves 
with both hands, and a great head appears, 
when crack goes the steel, and Mac sits down 
heavily in the boat, looking supremely foolish. 
I was not distressed, however, as that brief 
view of the fish's head had shown me the hook 
well placed ; moreover, I knew that somewhere 
under the thwarts we possessed a goodly club. 
Mac, after a few moments' search, produced 
the truncheon, and, at the first attempt, 
stunned the salmon with a well-directed blow, 
and lifting it with his hand drew it into the 
boat. Ha ! this is a fish indeed ; one of the 
best of the season, we flatter ourselves, and 
60 lb. for certain. But no; those cruel scales 
blast our hopes by 3 lb. Still, a fifty-seven- 
pounder is something to be proud of, and we 
rowed home that night at peace with the 
world. This, then, is Campbell River fishing 
for the great tyee salmon. If you wish to 
collect records you can do so by sitting all day 
in your boat for a month and using a tarpon- 
rod, which kills the biggest fish in two minutes, 
and a Vom Hof e reel, which carries a drag that 
would stop a buffalo." 



56 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

If there are many Indians out the rod has 
not much chance, for their canoes cross and 
recross in every direction, and as they fish with 
a short hand-hne, a long hne let out from the 
rod is apt to get fouled. 

Fortunately, their favourite ground is by 
Cape Mudge Lighthouse, where the cohoe 
abound. I only tried this water once, and 
was so jostled by Indian canoes that I deter- 
mined to stick to the tyee and the mouth of the 
Campbell River. 

The large majority of the salmon were really 
sporting fish. The cohoe had no chance with 
the strong tackle necessary for the tyee, but 
still were wonderfully lively, and when caught 
with light tackle on the fly, gave great sport. 

In one respect they were all a hopeless failure 
— they were quite unfit to eat. Why it should 
be so I cannot say. Perfect to look at, as 
good as any Atlantic fish, the flesh was like 
cotton wool, dry and devoid of all flavour. On 
the other hand, the cut-throat trout were 
excellent eating. 

During the entire month of August we had 
little or no rain. The climate was absolutely 
ideal and the eye never tired of the exquisite 
scenery, varying in colouring and effect every 
day. 

The row of one and a half miles from the 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 57 



hotel to the best fishing ground, if the tide was 
not favourable, was a drawback, and per- 
sonally I should prefer to pitch a camp on one 
of the many excellent sites at the mouth of the 
Campbell River, so one would be independent 
of the hotel hours and meals. When the tide 
is not favourable, a good plan is to leave the 
boat at the mouth of the river and walk home 
along the shore to the hotel for meals. 

The fish generally took best at the turn of the 
tide, and about half water. Many enthusiasts 
were out at 3 and 4 a.m. and in some cases 
struck a good rise, but these early mornings 
without a cup of tea, I fear, did not often 
appeal to me. 

The following table shows my bag day by 
day— 



Date. 


Tyee. 


Spring 
Salmon. 


/-I u Cut- 


Sea 
Trout. 


July 30 
„ 31 

Aug. 1 
„ 2 
„ 3 

„ 4 

,> 5 
„ 6 


No. W. 
1 20 

1 31| 

2 53 

— 42 
4 45 

— 44i^ 

— 42* 

— 35 

2 45 

— 37 

3 45 

— 42i 

— 40 


No. W. 
1 9 

1 13 
1 10 


No. W. 

6 30 

2 10 

3 15 

4 20 

7 47* 

9 47* 

16 98 

5 36 


No. AV. 
3 2 
3 2 

1 5 


No. W. 
1 2 



58 



SPORT IN VANCOUVER 



Date. 


Tyee. 


Spring 
Salmon. 


Cohoe. 


Cut- 
throat. 


Sea 
Trout. 






No. 


W. 


No. W. 


No. 


W. 


No. W. 


No. W. 


Aug 


8 


3 


42 
41 
32 


— — 


1 


6 


— — 


— — 


}) 


9 





1 8 


4 


24 


_ _ 





}> 


10 


8 


58 

46 

47 


1 10 


2 


1 


— — 


1 2i 


}} 


11 


2 


47 

87* 


— — 


3 


16 


— — 


— — 


}} 


12 


1 


45 


3 34 


2 


10 


— — 


• — — 


>-» 


13 


1 


35 


— — 


4 


20 


14 16J 


— — 


>> 


14 


— 


— 


1 9 


1 


6 


12 8* 


— — 




15 


1 


32 


— — 


1 


7 


1 1 


— — 


>} 


16 


•7 


37 
30 


— — 


9 


56 


— — 


— — 


>> 


17 


2 


46 
44 


— — 


1 


7 


— — 


— — 


J5 


18 


3 


49 
48 
40 


2 21 


4 


25 


— — 


— — 


















. 





}} 


19 


2 


40 

QO 


1 21 


6 


48 


— — 


— — 


>} 


20 


. 




_ _ 


4 


24 


_ _ 





f} 


21 


2 


45 
43 


1 8 


5 


38 


— — 


— — 


}} 


22 


2 


45 
85 
56 


— — 


8 


49 


— — 


— — 




23 


2 





16 


98 












— 


37 


— — 


— 


— 


— — 


— — 




24 


1 


26 


— — 


3 


24 


. — — 


— — 


>} 


25 


— 


— 


1 21 


— 


— 


. — — 


— — 


}> 


26 


1 


60 


— — 


1 


10 


— — 


— — 




41 


1738 


15 274 


126 


772 


37 38 


2 4i 



So the last day had come and the fishing was 
to be a memory of the past. Our pleasant 
party was broken up — Millais and his young 
undergraduate friends, Powell and Stern, had 
gone north to Wrangel to start on their hunting 
trip in Alaska; Griswold back to New York, 



SPORT AT CAMPBELL RIVER 59 

planning the construction of a special boat and 
the adding of the great tuna to his many 
trophies of big sea fish. Daggett alone re- 
mained, seated daily in the comfortable arm- 
chair he had rigged up in his boat, still intent 
on that 70 ife. fish we had all hoped for, but 
failed to secure. 

The pleasant days of friendly intercourse had 
come to an end. No more the quiet row home 
in the gloaming after a successful or moderately 
successful day. No more the nightly gathering 
on the beach and the weighing of the great 
fish. The weather itself looked despondent, 
and was making up its mind to break. The 
certainty of the past was over, the uncertainty 
of the future before me, and it was with a sad 
heart I bade farewell to the Willows Hotel, 
and to the fishing days that were now no more. 

The depressing hour of 1 a.m. found me sit- 
ting on the end of the pier waiting for the 
arrival of the Queen City, which was only an 
hour late, and once more I was bound for the 
unknown. 



FISHING-TACKLE 



CHAPTER V 

FISHING-TACKLE 

As regards tackle, one rule only must be 
followed : everything must be of the best, and 
the best is to be obtained either in England or 
New York. 

The choice of a rod is a difficult matter, and 
depends altogether on the individual idea of 
what constitutes sport. 

If by sport is meant the taking of the 

greatest number of fish in the shortest possible 

time, in fact the making of a record— no rod 

is necessary. Follow the Indian method of 

fishing with a strong hand-line and no trace, 

the spoon being fastened on to the line direct. 

The moment the fish is on, if a small one, he is 

hauled hand over hand up to the canoe and 

jerked in — if a tyee, he is played by hand. I 

have never seen one allowed to make a race, 

and when fairly done he is hauled alongside the 

canoe, the line held short with the left hand, 

while a sharp blow on the head is administered 

with a wooden club, and he is then done for 

and lifted into the boat — no gaff being used. 

63 



64 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

It is astonishing how quick the Indians are 
in killing even a large tyee by this method. 
The hand playing apparently takes all the life 
out of the fish, and the strong tackle does the 
rest. 

I have seen many white men follow this 
system — but they were all fishing for business 
and the Cannery. Only one white man from 
the hotel fished in this way, and I don't 
think any of us envied him his so-called 
sport. 

The take comes on quite unexpectedly — 
boats will be rowing backwards and forwards 
without a pull. Suddenly the take comes on 
and nearly every boat may be in a fish. He, 
therefore, who can kill his fish quickest will 
make the biggest bag, if record breaking be his 
object. 

I have seen one Indian canoe bring in over 
one hundred fish in a day's fishing — but is this 
sport ? I think all true fishermen will say it is 
not. 

After the hand-line comes the rod, and again, 
if the object be to catch as many fish as possible 
while the take is on, a small tarpon rod with 
a Vom Hofe multiplying reel and an 18 -thread 
tarpon line, practically unbreakable, may be 
used. 



FISHING-TACKLE 65 

One American tarpon fisher, Mr. Griswold, a 
true sportsman too, followed this method and 
naturally defended it. I do not in any way 
criticize his methods, I only felt they did not 
appeal to me. It is true I have seen him kill 
three fish while I was killing one, but I did not 
feel at all envious. 

Generous to a degree, he more than once 
offered to fit me out and instruct me in the art 
of " pumping " fish, but though much tempted, 
I did not fall. Had I succumbed, I much fear 
I should have become an ardent advocate of 
tarpon methods applied to tyee salmon. 

On the other hand, to fish for tyee with a 
highly finished 18-foot split cane, or other make 
of rod, seemed to me out of place. There were 
some who did it and gloried in the fact that 
they had caught a great tyee on an ordinary 
home salmon rod. 

It seemed to me a waste of good material, 
for the rod was likely to be broken or perma- 
nently strained in the process of lifting a great 
fish from the depths of the sea — for after one 
or two rushes taking out 100 to 150 yards of 
line, the tyee will often go straight down to the 
bottom, stand on his head and sulk, and then 
you want that power to bring him up which only 
a very stiff rod possesses. 



66 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

One of our number who had killed many a 
salmon at home, fished with an ordinary 
18-foot rod. The fish seemed to do what it 
liked with him, and it generally ended in the 
rod being lowered till the tip touched the 
water, and the boat disappearing in tow of the 
fish, up or down the Straits with the racing 
tide. 

In fact the fish was being played on the line 
from the reel without the power of a hand-line. 
To give him the butt would have inevitably 
resulted in breaking the rod. Yet this good 
sportsman sometimes got his fish and came 
back triumphant, having had him on for a 
couple of hours. 

The local rods, whether those to be obtained 
in Vancouver or at the store on the pier at 
Campbell River, seemed to me most inferior 
in quality and workmanship, and the same 
applies to all other tackle, except possibly the 
leads, which are too heavy to carry about and 
which can be purchased locally. 

As stated before, I used a three-piece Deeside 
spinning rod, twelve feet long, built by Black- 
law of Kincardine — but I must confess that 
twice my tip was broken by the strain of the 
weight of a big fish which had to be brought 
up to the gaff from the bottom of the sea. 



FISHING-TACKLE 67 

Many a time was this little rod bent double, 
till I wondered how it ever bore the strain. 
On it I had killed all my tyee and most of my 
cohoe, but it suffered in the process, and the 
middle and top joints had to be replaced on 
my return home. If I were going again, I 
should feel inclined to take a 10-foot rod built 
on the same lines and of the very best material 
and workmanship. Such a rod would give 
more power and stiffness than the 12-foot 
rod. 

Besides the 12-foot rod, I had a 14-foot 
three-piece Castleconnell rod, an old friend. 
This I used for fishing for cohoe with the fly, 
and grand sport they gave in the racing tide 
on a rod which played its fish right down 
to the reel. An ordinary 12-foot trout rod 
for the cut-throat trout completed my rod 
equipment. 

Reels and Lines. — I started with a large 
Nottingham reel, but soon gave it up. It had 
the advantage, of course, of not rusting, but 
the workmanship could not stand the rush of a 
heavy fish. I lost big fish by the line slipping 
over the drum and jamming, though I had 
fixed up the usual guard improvised out of 
the brass wire handle of a tin can purchased 
locally. I then came to my largest bronze 

F 2 



68 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

salmon reel, after which I had no more trouble 
— though the salt water caused rusting of the 
screws. 

The reel should take 200 yards of tarpon line 
and be of the very best and strongest make. 
The Vom Hofe multiplying reels are perfect 
specimens of workmanship, and the attached 
leather drag worked by pressure with the 
thumb is an excellent device. In fact, for the 
big fish, from tyee to tarpon, I think the 
American tackle makers beat us as regards 
reels and lines. 

I purchased two tarpon lines in London ; who 
the maker was I cannot say. One did good 
service, the other seemed of inferior quality, 
for it broke without any special reason. 

I should recommend 200 yards of 18 or 21 
Vom Hofe tarpon line, which now can be pur- 
chased in England at Messrs. Farlow & Son's, 
or in New York. 

One great advantage of this line is that it 
need neither be washed in fresh water after 
use in the sea nor dried. It can remain on the 
reel wet without rotting. 

Gaff. — Farlow makes a specially strong gaff 
lashed into a long ash or hazel handle. I found 
this quite satisfactory. On the other hand, 
the American fishermen use quite a short gaff, 



FISHING-TACKLE 69 

but fishing with a six or seven foot tarpon 
rod they can bring the fish much closer up to 
the side of the boat. 

A good strong landing net capable of taking 
a fish up of eight or ten pounds is most useful, 
and saves gaffing the smaller salmon. 

Flies. — I started with the idea that the 
ordinary trout fly on No. 11 or 13 hook should 
be as good in Vancouver as it was in Scotland. 
I had very soon to acknowledge my mistake — 
the trout preferred a small salmon fly on No. 8 
hook ; silver grey, silver doctor, Wilkinson and 
Jock Scott, I found the best patterns. 

The cohoe took a 2-inch silver doctor and 
rose steadily to the fly. 

Spoons and Minnows. — Spoons can be ob- 
tained locally, either in Vancouver or in the 
Campbell River Store, but I should recommend 
their being purchased in England. The spoon 
specially made by Farlow is three inches long, 
silver on both sides, with a hook attached 
to the end of the spoon by a strong wire 
loop. 

Local tastes varied, and in the local store 
there were many varieties of spoons. One 
year dull lead spoons were supposed to be 
most killing — another year it would be brass. 
Each fisherman had his special fancy. 



70 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Mr. Griswold had a silver spoon invented by 
a friend of his, or himself, for which a patent 
was about to be applied. He naturally, there- 
fore, did not wish to give away the secret. It 
certainly was a most killing bait, and Mr. 
Griswold, between his special spoon and his 
tarpon methods, killed more fish than any of 
us for the time he remained at the Campbell 
River. 

He most generously lent me one of his pet 
spoons on a day he was hauling in fish and I was 
getting nothing. I was promptly in a big fish 
which broke me, owing to the line jamming 
round the Nottingham reel, and away went the 
patent spoon. I did not feel justified in examin- 
ing the spoon too closely or taking a drawing 
of it. It seemed longer than the Farlow spoon. 
The hook was suspended by a chain and 
the bait seemed to wobble rather than spin. 
The material was metal with bright silver 
plating. 

An ordinary large-sized silver Devon Minnow 
spun from the boat, or at Cape Mudge from 
the shore, will take cohoe, and good sport can 
be obtained in this way. 

A Tacomah spoon is deadly for cut-throat 
trout, but I preferred the fly. 

Traces. — I took out some specially strong 



FISHING-TACKLE 71 

gut spinning traces made by Farlow, but I do 
not think any traces are necessary. The line 
is quite as invisible as the trace, and a few feet 
can be made into a trace by fixing two or three 
swivels — bronze, if possible, instead of bright 
brass — about two feet apart. 

For fly fishing, good stout loch casting lines 
which will land a five or seven pound fish are 
sufficient. Very fine trout casts are un- 
necessary, except for trout in the river. 

Leads. — These can be purchased locally, and 
one is saved the trouble of adding to the weight 
of baggage. 

The method of fastening the lead on to the 
line all depends on whether it is decided to lose 
the lead when the fish is hooked or to fix it 
permanently on the line. A six-ounce lead 
when the fish is being played takes away con- 
siderably from the pleasure, owing to the dead 
weight on the rod. On the other hand, if it 
be decided to lose the lead each time a fish is 
hooked, a couple of hundred leads may be 
required. 

In the former case, two methods can be 
adopted : loop up the line about twenty feet 
from the spoon with a piece of thread, on which 
is hung the lead; when the strike comes the 
thread is broken and the lead slips off — or, as 



72 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

described by Mr. Whitney : Tie two swivels on 
the line, nine inches apart; a small ring is 
soldered to one end of the lead, join the two 
swivels by a piece of weak cotton, thread 
the cotton through the ring of the lead and 
shorten it to four inches, which loops up the 
line, and when the strike comes the lead is 
released. 

In the latter case, which I adopted, I found 
the simplest way was to cut the line about ten 
feet from the spoon and fasten the lead by two 
split rings and two swivels. Starting with a 
four-ounce lead I soon came to a six ounce, 
which I believe to be the most suitable, 
certainly in spring tides. 

Odds and Ends. — One must carry out all one's 
own repairs, therefore an ample supply of 
repairing material and spare tackle must be 
taken. 

Strong silk for splicing breakages, cobbler's 
wax, seccotine or liquid glue, rod varnish, 
spare hooks, split rings, bronze single and 
double swivels, fine copper wire, snake rod 
rings, and screws for reels. 

A small portable case of tools, such as the 
" Bonsa," is invaluable, and with this and a 
sharp clasp knife most current repairs can be 
made. 



FISHING-TACKLE 73 

Two good spring balances are advisable, one 
weighing up to seventy or eighty pounds, and 
one up to fifteen pounds. Both should be 
tested, which avoids any dispute afterwards as 
to their accuracy. 



TO ALERT BAY 



CHAPTER VI 

TO ALERT BAY 

The morning of the 27th fulfilled the promise 
of the previous day. The weather had at 
last broken, and it was in a dense wetting mist 
that we crept north, bound for Alert Bay. 
We had no delay at the Seymour Narrows, 
which can only be navigated at a certain state 
of the tide. The whole force of the Pacific 
runs through these narrows — not more than 
half-a-mile broad — and the eddies and whirl- 
pools that are formed are terrifying. There 
is one great rock in the middle of the passage — 
a special source of danger. 

I had visited these narrows in a steam 
launch from the hotel, and had there seen the 
water at its worst — a wonderful sight ; but the 
tide was now suitable, and as the Queen City 
passed through there was only a strong current. 

The best guides and hunters are always 
snapped up early in the season, and before I 
left England, Mr. Bryan Williams had secured 
for me the services of Cecil Smith — better 
known in the local sporting world as " Cougar " 

77 



78 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Smith, from the number of cougars he had shot. 
As he hved at Quatiaski Cove, immediately 
opposite the Willows Hotel, I had frequently 
met him and discussed our plans together. 

We had arranged to go from Alert Bay up 
the Nimquish River to the Nimquish Lake, 
from which we were to strike in north-west 
to some valleys in the interior where wapiti 
were reported as fairly plentiful. Cecil Smith 
did not know the ground personally, but his 
brother Eustace, who had been in that part 
of the country several times, was to meet us 
at Alert Bay and act as head guide. Un- 
fortunately for us, at the last moment he was 
unable to come, and we had to find our way 
as best we could in an unknown and unmapped 
country. I had to find a man to replace 
Eustace Smith, and was fortunate in picking 
up Joe Thomson at Campbell River, and two 
better men than Smith and Thomson I could 
not have had. 

Smith was to act as head hunter and guide 
and Thomson more particularly look after 
the cooking and camp generally. Thomson 
came on board with me and we picked up 
Smith at Quitiaski Cove at about 4 a.m. 

Two other members of the party were even 
of more interest to me than the men. They 
were " Dick " and " Nigger," the latter gener- 



TO ALERT BAY 79 

ally known as " Satan." " Dick," who be- 
longed to Smith, was a most adorable dog and 
celebrated throughout Vancouver for treeing 
cougars; indeed, as Smith himself acknow- 
ledged, he owed his reputation as a cougar 
hunter to Dick, who did everything except 
the actual shooting. It was difficult to say 
what Dick's breed was. He looked like a 
cross between a spaniel and a retriever. He 
was one of the most fascinating dog characters 
I have ever met. He adored his master, who 
returned his worship, but ingratiated himself 
with every one; soon discovering that I had 
a warm corner in my heart for all dogs, we at 
once became fast friends. 

" Nigger," the property of Thomson, was 
a powerful, black, evil-looking bull terrier, 
but like many of his kind his character belied 
his looks, for he really was a soft-hearted, 
affectionate beast with a special ability for 
making himself comfortable under any circum- 
stances. Thomson asserted that if there was 
no food, " Nigger " subsisted on berries, and 
he was an adept at catching fish for himself 
in the river. He had had some trouble with 
the authorities at Comox in a matter of sheep, 
and so a temporary absence from his native 
town was desirable, and he became, to his 
great joy, one of our party. 



80 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

At 2 p.m. on the 27th we arrived at Alert 
Bay, which is situated on an island opposite 
where the Nimquish River discharges itself 
into the sea. Alert Bay is an important 
settlement of the Siwash Indians, and the 
village possesses one of the most remarkable 
collections of Totem Poles on the coast. 

The question was, where to put up — hotels 
there were none. Mr. Chambers, the local 
merchant, had in the most generous manner 
built an annexe to his charming house, con- 
taining several bedrooms, but they were all 
occupied. Fortunately, I had been intro- 
duced to Mr. Halliday, the Alert Bay Indian 
Agent, at Campbell River, and he most kindly 
offered me a shakedown on a sofa in his 
drawing-room, which I gratefully accepted. 
I found Mr. Halliday was devoted to music, 
but seldom could find an accompanist — while 
to accompany was a pleasure to me, and we 
passed the evening going through many songs 
I had not heard for years, which recalled the 
Old Country and days long gone by. 

Eustace Smith met us here and gave a rough 
sketch map to his brother Cecil, and indeed 
pointed out to us the peak on Vancouver 
Island under which we were to camp, and which 
only looked about fifteen miles off as the crow 
flies, and yet what difficulty we had afterwards 





TOTEM POLES, ALERT BAY 



[To Jace page 80. 



TO ALERT BAY 81 

to find our way through the impenetrable 
forest ! 

The morning of the 28th was spent in sort- 
ing out the kit we could take with us, which, 
as packing was our only means of transport, 
had to be cut down to nothing. Mine con- 
sisted of two flannel shirts, one change of 
underclothing, two pairs of socks, one sweater, 
one spare pair of boots, a few handkerchiefs, 
sponge, soap and towel. One Hudson Bay 
blanket, for it was not yet cold in the woods, 
and one waterproof ground sheet in which the 
pack was made up, completed my outfit. The 
men had a single fly to sleep under. My tent, 
which Mr. Williams had kindly ordered for me 
in Vancouver, was of the lean-to pattern, made 
with a flap which let down in front in bad 
weather, completely closing the tent. Being 
made of so-called silk, it weighed only five 
pounds. It measured 7 feet x 6 feet, was 
about 7 feet high in front and sloped back to 
about 2 feet high behind. It was most com- 
fortable so long as one slept on the ground, 
but was not high enough behind to take even 
a small camp bedstead. It was quite water- 
proof, but should a spark from the fire fall on 
it, a hole was burnt rapidly. I understand 
that the following renders the silk almost fire- 
proof — 



82 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Dissolve half-a-pound of powdered alum in 
a bucket of soft boiling water. In another 
bucket half-a-pound sugar of lead; when dis- 
solved and clear, pour first the alum solution, 
then the sugar of lead, into another vessel; 
after several hours pour off the water, letting 
any thick sediment remain, and soak the tent, 
kneading it well : wring out and hang up to 
dry. 

Camp furniture I had none. A tin plate, 
knife, fork and spoon for each man; a nest 
of cooking pots which Thomson provided, a 
small tin basin in which we washed and which 
also served to mix our bread, and lastly the 
invaluable portable tin baker which will roast 
or bake anything. It was strange that the 
Hudson Bay Stores at Vancouver could not 
provide light cooking utensils suitable for 
packing. They had excellent blankets, water- 
proof sheets and the larger articles of camp 
equipment, but light cooking utensils there 
were none. Mr. Williams took infinite trouble 
to get a nest of cooking pots made for me, 
but on their arrival at Campbell River they 
were found impossible owing to their weight, 
so I made them a present to Smith. 

We fitted out as regards provisions at Mr. 
Chambers' Store : the usual articles of food — 
bacon, pork, beans, tea, sugar, flour, baking 



TO ALERT BAY 83 

powder, oatmeal, dried apples and peaches, 
a couple of tins of meat, a couple of tins of 
jam — one of which only sufficed for a meal — 
some butter as a great treat, and a few potatoes 
and onions on which I insisted. 

No liquor could be purchased in Alert Bay ; 
the sale was prohibited on account of the 
Indian Settlement. Fortunately, I had secured 
two bottles of rum from the Queen City, or 
otherwise I should have fared badly — as it 
was, I had to be content with about a dessert- 
spoonful of rum each night before turning in. 
It is said that the Indians will do anything 
for liquor, and once they get hold of any, drink 
without any self-restraint. At Campbell River 
I had more than once seen an Indian lying on 
the side of the road hopelessly drunk and 
insensible. It is therefore a wise provision 
that the sale of liquor should be prohibited 
at Alert Bay. The settlement was full of 
Indians and their squaws, and a very un- 
attractive lot the squaws were. Once having 
seen them, it was difficult to believe in 
the immorahty with which they are credited. 
These Siwashes seemed a degraded race, and 
one heard of men who deliberately took 
their wives to logging camps to live on their 
earnings. 

The provisions we laid in were supposed to 

G 2 



84 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

last three men for twenty days, and I was 
assured we would be helped out with game, 
an occasional deer, ruffled grouse and plenty 
of fish once we got into the forest. 

A man cannot carry a pack weighing more 
than eighty pounds in the country we had to 
traverse, and, having cut down everything 
to the absolute necessaries of life, we still had 
to make double trips to get our stuff into 
camp, wasting a day each time. 

We got away in the afternoon and crossed 
the Straits to the mouth of the Nimquish 
River in an Indian canoe. About a mile up 
the river was the comfortable log house of 
B. Lansdown, a settler. We were lucky 
enough to find him at home and he agreed to 
be the third man of our party. At first the 
idea was that he should help to pack in about 
three marches to where we proposed to make a 
permanent camp, and then return; but subse- 
quent events compelled us to keep him the 
whole time. He was a fourth mouth to feed 
and at all times had a most excellent appetite. 

Having arranged with two Siwash Indians 
to take us up to the lake, a distance of about 
seven miles, the following morning, we accepted 
Lansdown's invitation to put up at his house, 
where we were most hospitably entertained. 

After some food at 5 o'clock I had my first 



TO ALERT BAY 85 

experience of a Vancouver forest. A cougar 
had been killing cattle in the immediate 
neighbourhood, and Smith's and Dick's ser- 
vices were requisitioned to bring him to book. 

Crossing the river, we were soon in the 
densest and most impenetrable undergrowth 
I ever attempted to crawl through. We were 
shown the spot where the last kill had taken 
place, and though we spent till dusk scrambling 
over and under fallen trees and through a tangle 
of undergrowth, unable to see five yards ahead, 
Dick could find no trace of the cougar. It 
had been raining in the morning, so we were 
all wet to the skin, as forcing our way through 
the undergrowth was like taking a shower 
bath. Hunting the cougar is, in my opinion, 
unworthy of the name of sport. Success 
depends on having a good dog to follow up 
the cougar by scent and to drive him up a 
tree, when the hunter comes up and pots him. 
Why such a powerful animal — for he is as big 
as a panther — should be such a coward, I 
cannot understand. I never heard while on 
the coast of a single case where the cougar 
attacked a man. The dog he sometimes goes 
for, and Dick had been once severely mauled. 

I confess my first attempt at hunting in 
the Vancouver forest was most disappointing, 
as I had formed no idea of the nature of the 



86 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

forest we were to hunt in. Several people 
at the Campbell River Hotel had asked me 
if I knew what I was " up against " in deciding 
to try for a wapiti. Some, including my men, 
took a brighter view, and assured me that the 
dense undergrowth was only on the coast, 
and that as one got inland the forest became 
more open. Had I known what I was really 
" up against," I think I would have turned 
back, for never have I endured greater dis- 
comfort. 



IN THE FOREST 



CHAPTER VII 

IN THE FOREST 

The morning of the 29th was fine and the 
river was looking lovely in the brilliant sun- 
shine. 

Just before the Indians with their canoes 
arrived, a doe deer came down on to the shingle 
across the river. As we required meat, neither 
sex nor season was taken into consideration. 
My rifle was not ready, so Smith had a shot 
at about 120 yards and missed. I then had 
a try and missed the deer, which stood without 
moving, but with a second shot I brought her 
down. In a moment " Nigger " was into the 
river and across worrying the carcass — what 
for I could not understand, for the poor beast 
was stone dead. It was lucky we secured this 
meat, for it was the last we saw for many days ; 
but we afterwards regretted our generosity 
in leaving half the carcass behind as a present 
to our host's family. 

On the arrival of the big Siwash canoe, with 
two Indians to pole, we loaded up our kit and 

^t last were off on our trip. Smith went on 

89 



90 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

through the forest on the chance of seeing any 
game, when he was to communicate with me. 
Lansdown and Thomson went up in Lans- 
down's canoe, but spent most of their time 
in the water hauHng it over the many rapids. 
My Indians were splendid boatmen and poled 
up all but one of the rapids. The river has a 
considerable fall from the lake, and heavy 
rapids and miniature cataracts alternate with 
deep pools — an ideal fishing water. 

Without stopping to fish, I trailed a small 
Tacomah spoon behind the canoe and got 
twelve cut-throat trout, weighing 9 tb., by the 
time we entered the lake. 

The scenery, as pure river scenery, was 
superb the whole way, the.banks^being clothed 
with dense forest through which the river 
rushed and tumbled on its short course to 
the sea. It reminded me very much of the 
scenery on the Kippewa River in Eastern 
Canada. The river opened out as we ap- 
proached the lake, and the scenery as we en- 
tered the lake was, if possible, more beautiful 
than that we had passed through. 

To the south extended the Nimquish Lake 
as far as the eye could see. The perennial 
snow of the Vancouver Mountains formed an 
impressive background, while a dense forest 
clothed the sides of the steep hills, which in 



IN THE FOREST 91 

some places fell almost perpendicularly down 
to the lake. The evening was lovely, the lake 
without a ripple, mountain and forest reflected 
as in a mirror. The whole scene gave a feel- 
ing of peace which can only be found in 
communion with nature. 

Camp and dinner took our thoughts away 
in a more practical direction, and leaving 
Smith and Thomson to pitch camp, Lansdown 
and I started for the lake end of the river to 
secure a few more trout for the pot. 

There was the most extraordinary collection 
of driftwood on the beach — colossal trees 
lying packed across one another, showing 
how high the lake must rise when the torrents 
descend from the precipitous mountains. 

On our return, we found Smith and Thomson 
had pitched camp in the forest near the lake, 
but the ground was sodden and covered with 
a thick moss. No drier spot could be found, 
so we had to make the best of it. The mos- 
quitoes were troublesome till sunset, when they 
disappeared. I had the same experience during 
the entire trip. Very often unbearable the 
hour before sunset, they disappeared as night 
closed in, and I never had occasion to use a 
mosquito curtain. The nights were cold, which 
perhaps^accounted for it. 

I could not help contrasting the camp and 



92 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

its arrangements with my camping experience 
in Eastern Canada, some seven years before. 
There we had ideal camping grounds, on the 
bank of some river or lake, dry sandy soil, a 
fairly open forest with undergrowth only in 
parts, and lovely views from the tent door over 
rushing river or placid lake. I had French 
Canadians for companions and guides and they 
have a perfect genius for making comfortable 
and even luxurious camps ; unlimited supplies, 
for we travelled with two canoes, and most of 
our way was over lakes or rivers with short 
portages; a comfortable tent, and if we were 
to camp for two or three days, my men soon 
ran up a dining-table and bench under a birch 
bark shelter. The table was always laid with 
a clean napkin, and an excellent dinner of 
soup, fish, stuffed ruffled grouse, deliciously 
cooked, was served. We had plenty of knives, 
forks, plates and drinking cups — in fact, all 
the comfort which two canoes allow. 

Here, we had only once a decent camp, and 
that was on Lake Keogh. The edges of the 
lake were generally swamps and piled up with 
driftwood. Our camps had to be pitched in 
the forest, a short distance from the shore of 
the lake, or on the bank of the river on the 
most level bit of land we could find. The 
ground was always sodden, and a few branches 




THE HEAD OF NIMQUISH LAKE 




DRIFTWOOD ON THE BEACH OF LAKE NIMQTTISH, 
"dick" in THE FOREGROUND 



[ To face page 92. 



IN THE FOREST 98 

of damp hemlock with a waterproof sheet 
spread over them was my bed. We each had 
a tin plate, cup, knife, fork and spoon. We 
all ate together, sitting on the damp ground 
in front of the camp fire. Lastly, the comfort- 
ing tot of whisky at or after dinner had to 
be abandoned, for we had only two bottles 
of rum in case of illness. 

At the first cantp we fared quite luxuriously, 
for we had the venison we had brought along 
and the trout I had caught en route — but later 
on, the daily fare of bacon and beans became, 
to say the least, monotonous. In one thing 
we were lucky : Thomson baked the most 
delicious bread; so we were certain of good 
bread and tea. 

The morning of the 30th broke fine and we 
got away about 8.30 a.m., but before long the 
rain came down and we plodded along through 
the forest for some seven hours, during which 
we did not cover much more than three miles. 

The undergrowth was nearly everywhere 
dense, consisting of wine-berries and that 
curse of the forest, the thorny devil- club. 
The trees rose from one to two hundred feet 
in height over our heads. Windfalls of timber 
were numerous, adding to the difficulty of 
the march. 

Of animal life we could see nothing. Deer 



94 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

marks were plentiful, and in the early morning 
before starting we heard the melancholy howl- 
ing of two wolves. Game might have been 
in abundance, but what was the good when it 
was impossible to see more than a few yards 
ahead. I began to have serious misgivings 
as to what stalking a wapiti would be like in 
such a country. The wapiti country was, 
however, far away and we had still to get 
there. 

About 4 o'clock we pitched camp, if possible 
on a worse ground than that of the day before. 

Packs for two men had been left behind to be 
brought on next day, which meant that I had 
to remain in camp on the 31st with nothing 
to do, for there was neither game nor fish in 
the neighbourhood. Smith went on to find 
the way for next day's march, and the 
other two men went back to bring up the 
loads left behind. They turned up about 
7 p.m. Smith got back in the afternoon, 
having found Kitsewa River, which was to be 
our objective the next day. 

About 5 p.m. the rain came down in torrents 
and continued all night. Fortunately my little 
tent was quite waterproof. One great advan- 
tage of a camp in the forest is that there is 
no wind to drive the rain through the tent. 
I doubt whether my tent would have kept 



IN THE FOREST 95 

out such rain if the camp had been in the 
open. 

September 1st. The rain stopped about 
5 a.m. but the trees and undergrowth were 
dripping and a bad wet march was before us. 

Getting away about 8.30 a.m. — it was always 
difficult to get the men to make an earlier 
start — we were soon wet to the skin. Smith, 
having got the compass bearings of the river, 
tried to find a better route than that he had 
taken the day before; but towards the end 
of the march we hit on a very bad windfall 
on the slope of a steep hill. Giant trees lay 
in a dense tangle, over, under and across 
which we had to make our way. It was timber 
crawling at its worst, and the trunks of the 
trees being covered with damp, slippery moss 
made the going really dangerous at times. 
Unfortunately I was wearing a pair of strong 
shooting boots with Scafe's patent rubber 
studs instead of nails. They had no hold 
on the slippery trunks of the trees we had to 
cross ; the result was a bad fall and a sprained 
knee which caused me great pain and discom- 
fort for the rest of the trip. I shall never 
forget the end of that march, for my knee 
kept giving way, and I stumbled and tumbled 
about till I was covered with bruises. 

We made the Kitsewa River after six hours' 



96 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

march, and as the rain again set in, we camped 
at a disused trapper's hut on a high bank 
overlooking the river. The river here was 
about thirty yards broad and full of hump- 
backed salmon, but apparently no trout. We 
had seen many tracks of deer, wolves and one 
cougar on the march, but the undergrowth 
was so dense that shooting was impossible. 

September 2nd. The men had again to go 
back to bring up the packs left behind. These 
double journeys were most annoying, and yet 
I do not see how they could have been avoided. 
We certainly only had the bare necessaries of 
life — more packers would have meant more 
mouths to feed and more provisions to carry — 
yet each double journey meant a lost day. 

My knee was so swollen and painful I could 
not move from the tent, so Smith decided to 
go on and hunt for the Keogh Lake — where 
his brother Eustace had on a previous trip 
left the material for a rough raft; where the 
Keogh Lake was, he was not quite certain, 
but it had to be found. 

Left alone in camp I could not help thinking 
what would have happened had I broken my 
leg. Putting the question to the men they 
said, " Oh ! it would have been all right — 
we would have packed in food to you." In 
fact I would have had to lie in my tent till I 



IN THE FOREST 97 

recovered or died, for it is impossible to move 
a sick or injured man through the Vancouver 
forest. With nothing to read and obhged to 
He on my back, the day was long in passing, 
and I find the following entry in my diary : 
" Knee very painful, am quite unable to walk 
and miserable at the idea that my entire trip 
may be spoiled and that I may have to turn 
back. Am black and blue with bruises from 
the many falls I had yesterday after I injured 
my knee." 

Smith had succeeded in getting one willow 
grouse, shooting it with a pistol, but he 
missed two others close to the camp. The 
men returned about 4 o'clock, having made 
good time, as we had blazed our track of yester- 
day. Smith got in about 7 p.m., utterly ex- 
hausted, and having failed to find Lake Keogh. 

Here was a man, certainly one of the best 
woodsmen in the island, defeated by the diffi- 
culties of the Vancouver forest. It must be 
remembered the northern portions of the 
Island are unsurveyed, so marching was all 
compass work. There had probably been 
some slight error in the bearings given him 
by his brother, but the fact remained, that 
Keogh Lake had still to be hunted for. 

Dick had found a cougar and Smith shot 
him — a fine specimen of a male. Smith's 



98 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

appearance with the skin fastened over his 
shoulder was certainly dramatic, rendered 
more so by his throwing himself on the ground 
in a state of utter exhaustion. Here the 
rum came in useful, and after a good tot and 
some food, he was quite himself again. I 
think he felt bitterly that he had failed to find 
the lake, but he had done his best, and no man 
can do more. 

September 3rd. My knee was still painful 
and I was quite unfit to march. It was useless 
to start without knowing where we were going, 
so after consultation we decided that Smith 
and Thomson should go ahead and try to find 
the lake. As it turned out Smith had gone 
too far east the previous day. 

Lansdown and " Nigger " remained in 
camp, but Dick, who must have been pretty 
tired after yesterday's work, refused to leave 
his master. 

Cutting a strong stick — my daily companion 
for the rest of the trip — I hobbled down to 
the river to try and get some fish for ourselves 
and the dogs. 

There were shoals of humpbacked salmon 
in the pools, but they were hideous to look at, 
as the spawning season was coming on. They 
would not look at a fly or minnow, so I had 
resort to the worst form of poaching : " snigger- 



IN THE FOREST 99 

ing." I soon had five on the bank and could 
as easily have had fifty. To us the fish were 
quite uneatable, but the dogs thoroughly 
enjoyed them. I could see no sign of trout 
of any size or in any number. I only caught 
one tiny cut-throat. Dead humpbacks were 
lying in all the pools, and along the banks of 
the river ; there were tracks of a big bear close 
to camp and many deer tracks, but the dense 
undergrowth destroyed any chance of a shot. 

Returning to camp about 6 p.m. I set out 
for a grassy hollow, fairly open and close to 
the river where Lansdown said deer were 
certain to come out to feed in the evening. 
I stood the mosquitoes for about five minutes 
when I had to retire ignominiously, as they 
were simply in clouds. 

Night fell and there was no sign of Smith 
or Thomson. Fortunately the weather had 
been quite perfect and a bivouac in the woods 
would be no great hardship. 

'' Nigger " was a source of continual amuse- 
ment to me that day. He was a dog of great 
character and had become much attached to 
me. He liked the camp fire and never was so 
happy as when sitting on his haunches as close 
as he could get to it and blinking with intense 
joy. His master, I fear, often drove him away, 
but he always crept back a few minutes after. 

H 2 



100 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

He loved, too, to crawl under the fly of my tent 
and curl up for the night at the foot of my 
blanket. 

I spent a portion of the day cleaning and 
skinning the paws of the cougar, and as I 
finished each paw, threw it away some distance 
from the camp. " Nigger " carefully watched 
my proceedings, and when he thought I was not 
looking, slunk away and had soon retrieved 
each paw, and carefully buried it for future 
use. Poor beast ! I expect he had experi- 
enced many a hungry day and instinct had 
taught him to make provision for the future. 

September 4th. Smith and Thomson had 
not returned, which meant another wasted 
day. Here we were the sixth day out from the 
lake, but we had only made two marches and 
were not yet in our hunting ground. Eustace 
Smith had said it was only a two or three 
days' march at the outside — but he probably 
travelled alone, very light, and knew his way. 
The two men turned up about 3 p.m., pretty 
well tired out, as they had been walking all 
the day before and from 6 o'clock in the 
morning. They reported the country ahead 
very bad going, but they had found a river 
which must have had its source in the Keogh 
Lake; the lake itself they had not reached. 
I had caught about a dozen salmon parr, so 



IN THE FOREST 101 

had a poor fry as an addition to the never 
varying menu of bacon and beans. 

September 5th. We did not yet get away 
till 9.30, as the men were tired after their 
two days' tramp. We followed the bed of 
the Kitsewa River, crossing and recrossing 
the stream several times, which was very 
tiring. Fortunately the water was only above 
our knees, but a slip with his pack gave 
Lansdown a real ducking. Though the going 
was bad over rough boulders, still it was a 
relief after the struggle through the under- 
growth of the forest. The packs were heavy, 
as we were now packing everything, so our 
progress was somewhat slow. We had cached 
some provisions in the trapper's hut and had 
got through six days' supplies, still the packs 
were as heavy as the men could well manage 
and a rest every fifteen minutes was necessary. 

Leaving the river after about two miles, we 
again struck some bad country, and at 4 p.m. 
arrived at the stream supposed to flow out of 
Lake Keogh. The men were pretty well done 
from the extra heavy packs, so a halt was 
decided on and we pitched camp as best as 
could on the side of a precipitous hill. My 
knee was very painful ; marching was anything 
but a pleasure and I was glad of an early rest. 

Smith went ahead and came back reporting 



102 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

the lake only half-a-mile away, so it was a 
pity we had not gone on a little further. He 
had also seen the track of a big bull wapiti 
and a fresh bear track, which news cheered 
us all up. 

September 6th. Starting early we were 
soon on the shore of the lake — a lovely sheet 
of water about two miles long, surrounded by 
steep forest-clad hills a few hundred feet high. 
The growth round the shore was so thick, 
and the rocks in parts so precipitous, we de- 
cided it would save time to build a raft to get 
to the end of the lake. We found some logs 
with which Eustace Smith had made a raft 
and soon put them together, and had a rough 
raft on which we paddled slowly to the north 
end of the lake. 

We pitched camp on the first decent camping 
ground we had found. The men were in shelter 
under an enormous cedar-tree, of great age 
and quite hollow in the middle. My tent was 
pitched on an open bit of ground running out 
to the lake, over which I had a beautiful view. 

Misfortune was still to pursue us — Smith 
had had a bad fall two days before, but did 
not attach much importance to it. He now 
felt very ill and complained of great pain and 
tenderness in his side. On examining him, 
it appeared to me that one of his ribs was 



IN THE FOREST 103 

cracked if not broken. He was not a very 
strong man physically, though as hard as nails. 
All we could do was to foment his side with 
one of our flannel shirts and let him lie 
in his blankets near the fire, which had been 
lit at the base of the cedar-tree. 

There were some open glades at the end of 
the lake and the country looked more game- 
like. I went out in the afternoon to have a 
look round. The country was more open and 
I found a two-day-old track of a big bull, so 
game was in the neighbourhood — there were 
also fresh bear tracks and bear droppings 
close to camp. 

I returned to try for a dish of trout while 
Thomson went out to lie in wait for deer coming 
out to feed at sunset — a form of sport I did 
not appreciate. 

The question of food was now becoming 
serious, as the men had calculated on plenty 
of deer and grouse, and we had had no fresh 
meat since the deer I shot the day we started 
up the Nimquish River. Fishing from the 
shore and from our raft I caught six cut-throat 
trout, the largest about half-a-pound, with 
the fly. The lake was very deep and peaty — 
no doubt there were bigger fish in it, but they 
would not rise freely ; it was late in the season 
and possibly my flies were not big enough. 



104 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Thomson returned, having wounded a deer — 
I don't think he was a crack shot, but Hke all 
the men I met on the coast, very fond of loosing 
off. He also reported having met a bear which 
he missed clean, but doubt was expressed in 
camp as to the bear. 

September 7th. The rain was coming down 
in torrents and the camp most uncomfortable, 
while to move on was impossible, as Smith was 
feverish and in considerable pain, quite unfit 
to carry a pack. I had, therefore, most 
reluctantly to decide to remain where we were. 

Thomson took '' Nigger " out to find the 
wounded deer and returned in the evening 
successful. The deer was a young doe. There 
was great joy in camp at the prospect of a 
meat meal at last, for we had had no fresh 
meat since August 29th. 

During the night we had an alarm. The 
men had pitched their fly under a very old 
cedar-tree and the camp fire was lit against 
the tree, which was hollow. About midnight 
there was a sound of an explosion and a roar 
of flames. Jumping out of bed, a most extra- 
ordinary sight presented itself; the entire tree 
was in flames from the base to the summit. 
The fire had evidently crept up the hollow 
trunk till the whole tree was ablaze. 

Pulling down the fly, the men saved every- 



IN THE FOREST 105 

thing from being burnt, but morning found the 
tree still a roaring pillar of fire. 

In Eastern Canada in the fall of the year 
such an occurrence might have set the whole 
country ablaze and resulted in one of those 
tracts of burnt country called " brules " so 
common through that country. While on 
the Campbell River we heard of great forest 
fires taking place on the Mainland, but in the 
north of Vancouver Island I saw no sign of a 
burnt forest, for it was too saturated to burn. 



IN THE WAPITI COUNTRY 



CHAPTER VIII 

IN THE WAPITI COUNTRY 

September 8th. We got away in fine 
weather through the most open country we 
had yet met. Our objective was a lake about 
three miles away, for having found Keogh 
Lake, Eustace Smith's rough-sketch map now 
came in useful. 

The country looked more promising for game, 
for we came across many well-beaten wapiti 
tracks and at least two fresh tracks of good 
bulls. 

We got into camp fairly early and selected 
the most level piece of ground to be found 
some twenty yards from the lake; the edge 
of the lake itself was swampy. 

The lake was about a mile long by a quarter 
of a mile broad. It was the first of a chain of 
lakes connected by a narrow stream with a 
rough rocky bed running to the west. The 
sides were clothed with dense forest and the 
tops of the surrounding hills were even now 
covered with snow. 

The view in the morning was most beautiful 

109 



no SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

— the mist floating up the forest-clad ravines 
to the distant hill-tops all reflected in the glassy 
surface of the lake. At sunset it was equally 
lovely. 

This lake we called No. 1, as we understood 
the chain consisted of three lakes extending 
westward down the valley which was to be our 
future hunting ground. 

Smith suggested he should go out, look 
quietly round, examine the country and search 
for fresh tracks, so that we could begin our 
regular hunting the next day. 

Being now in the game country I had given 
strict orders that no one was to shoot at any- 
thing, but to come back and report what he 
had seen — I was therefore somewhat astounded 
to hear a single shot at no great distance as I 
was catching a dish of trout for dinner. 

Smith soon came back looking very dejected. 
He said he had come on fresh tracks of a good 
bull, and in following them up saw something 
brown in the undergrowth which he thought 
was a small deer, and as we wanted meat in 
camp he took a snapshot at it, and then found 
it was the bull and he feared he had wounded it. 

I had to accept this story, improbable as 
it was, for there was no mistaking a great bull 
wapiti for a small deer. 

What was done was done, and there was no 




THE VANCOUVER FOREST, 

SHOWING UNDERGROWTH THROUGH WHICH WE HAD 

TO MAKE OUR WAY 




LAKE NO. 1 



[To face page 110. 



IN THE WAPITI COUNTRY 111 

use making a fuss. If I were making such a 
trip again, I would ask the men to leave their 
rifles behind, for they cannot resist shooting at 
anything that comes their way. 

He had come back at once to tell me, and 
begged of me to go out with him and take 
up the track, which was only about a mile 
away. 

The rain was again falling and we had only 
a couple of hours of daylight, but still I decided 
to see for myself the tracks and ascertain, if 
possible, whether the bull had been wounded 
and where. Taking Thomson with us, we 
started and were soon as usual wet through. 

We found the spot where Smith had come on 
the bull and fired. There were a few traces of 
blood, but they were all high up on the bushes, 
and from the pace the wapiti was travelling, 
it was evident he was none the worse for the 
light bullet of Smith's Winchester rifle. 

We followed the track till dusk and had a 
weary tramp back to camp in the dark. 

I had again ricked my knee and was in 
considerable pain. Everything seemed to have 
gone wrong, first my accident, then Smith's, 
and now a wounded wapiti that we might 
never find. 

The prospect of the morrow's work with a 
swollen and painful knee was not very cheering, 



112 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

and I think we were all rather sad when we 
turned in that night. 

September 9th. It had rained all night and 
was still pelting when we started. I had to 
walk with a stick and was unable to carry my 
own rifle. 

In a couple of hours we came to the spot 
where we had left the track the previous 
evening. 

Smith was a fine tracker, I have seldom seen 
a better. 

The bull was going strong and well. We soon 
came to where he had rested for the night, but 
there was no pool of blood, so the wound was 
evidently not serious. In the early morning 
he had fed down the valley. After about three 
hours' tracking we came on to the shore of 
another lake (Lake No. 2), and thought the 
bull had taken to the water — to the edge of 
which he had gone down through heavy 
swampy ground covered with coarse grass. 
Taking a cast round, we found, however, that 
he had turned right back and gone up the valley 
we had just come down, but on the other side 
of the river connecting the two lakes. 

Following up the track we suddenly heard a 
crash right ahead, but I could see nothing. 
Smith dashed on and I heard a shout at the 
top of his voice, " Come on, Sir John. Quick ! " 



IN THE WAPITI COUNTRY 118 

It was all very well " come on quick," but 
with a bad knee, getting through a mass of 
fallen timber up a fairly steep though fortun- 
ately short hill was no easy matter. How 
I did it I cannot even now understand, but 
the pain in the knee was forgotten, my stick 
thrown away, the rifle, which was of course 
loaded, snatched out of Thomson's hand, and 
I found myself on the crest of the hill looking 
down into a valley overgrown with dense 
salmon-berry through which some great beast 
was crashing his way. 

I am quite blind without a telescope sight 
and there was no time to fix it. I could just 
make out the tips of the bull's horns moving 
quickly through the undergrowth. I could 
only guess where the body was, but fortun- 
ately the body of a wapiti is a pretty big 
mark. Taking a snapshot as I would at a 
snipe I heard the welcome thud of the bullet. 
The bull stood for a moment, which gave me 
time for a second shot, on which I saw the great 
antlers sink out of sight in the undergrowth and 
I knew that the trophy I had come so far to 
obtain was mine. 

I confess to an anxious moment as to what 
the head would turn out to be. The tracks 
were those of a big bull, but I had only seen the 
tips of the horn; the spread looked good, but 



114 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

whether he was a six or a sixteen points I 
could not say. 

Going down to where he lay we found him 
stone dead, a good thirteen-pointer, which the 
men naturally declared to be above the 
average. Somehow, I was disappointed, as I 
expected a bigger head, but after all getting 
him at all was a pure chance, and having now 
experienced what hunting the wapiti in these 
dense forests meant, I was, I think, on the 
whole very lucky. He looked an enormous 
beast as he lay. What his weight was I could 
not guess, but he must have stood about 
sixteen hands at the shoulder. It took the 
three of us all we could do to turn him over to 
examine the wounds. 

Both of my shots were fatal. We found 
that Smith's bullet had inflicted a flesh wound 
high up in the rump, and would have done no 
harm. 

Wet to the skin, but happy, I got under a 
giant cedar which gave shelter from the heavy 
rain, and lighting a big fire, stripped to the 
skin to dry my soaking clothes, while the men 
were removing the head and getting some meat. 
We soon had wapiti steaks frizzling on the fire, 
and a brew of hot tea made us all comfortable 
and happy. 

The worst of the whole business was the 



IN THE WAPITI COUNTRY 115 

waste of meat and the impossibility of taking 
away the splendid skin. The head alone was 
one man's load and to carry out a green skin 
was quite impossible. 

Packing as much of the meat as we could 
carry, we made for the camp. 

The creek flowing down the valley was 
coming down in heavy spate and we had to 
cross and recross it many times — no easy 
matter — before we got home. 

September 10th. It was still raining. Smith 
was feeling pretty bad, his side causing him 
much pain, and he was, I think, beginning to 
feel anxious about himself. My knee was 
anything but comfortable. Neither of us were 
up to another day in the forest, so I spent my 
day fishing and caught about forty small cut- 
throat trout, the biggest about 3 oz. I saw 
one fish about 2 ft. throw himself in the lake, 
but he would not rise when I put a fly over him ; 
it was possibly too late in the season. This 
lake had practically never been fished, and I 
was much disappointed to find that the sport 
was so poor. 

Lansdown had gone back to bring up a small 
pack left at Keogh Lake. He returned in the 
evening, reporting that he had come face to 
face with a ten-pointer bull who simply looked 
at him and walked away. 

12 



116 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Such is luck. Happily he had not a rifle, 
or most certainly he would have loosed 
off. 

September 11th. Our future plans had now 
to be discussed and decided on. 

Instead of two or three days' march, we had 
owing to a chapter of accidents taken ten days 
to get into the wapiti country. Provisions 
were running short. Smith was practically 
hors de combat and feeling worse every day, 
and yet viewing the fact that we were now 
in the wapiti country, and by spending another 
few days we might reasonably expect to get 
another bull, I was extremely unwilling to 
turn back. 

On the other hand, further exposure in the 
vile weather we were experiencing might have 
resulted in Smith's serious illness. Not liking 
to assume the responsibility, I left it to him. 
He reluctantly decided for home. I feel sure 
he was even more disappointed than I was, 
for he was a keen sportsman, but in his present 
condition he was quite unfit to carry a pack, 
while serious illness might have resulted from 
exposure to pouring rain. The decision was 
the only one that could be come to, so there 
was no use in repining. 

We accordingly sent Thomson and Lansdown 
back to Keogh Lake with the wapiti head and 



IN THE WAPITI COUNTRY 117 

one pack. Smith and I started out on our last 
chance of finding another wapiti. 

It was for a wonder a lovely morning, and I 
felt bitterly the hard luck which had pursued 
us all the way, and which now compelled us to 
turn back just as we had reached a game 
country. We went up a fine valley running 
from the east of the lake — the most open 
forest we had yet come to. It was timbered 
with magnificent spruce-trees, some of which 
I should say were at least 180 feet in height. 
There was but little undergrowth, it was the 
first ideal hunting ground we had struck. We 
worked all the morning without finding any- 
thing but two-day-old tracks. After lunch 
we suddenly came on quite fresh tracks of a 
good bull, possibly the one Lansdown had seen 
the day before. 

Taking up the tracks, we followed steadily 
on and must have come close enough to disturb 
him, though we neither heard nor saw anything. 
We came, however, on the spot where he had 
been lying down and had jumped up and 
gone off at a gallop. 

We tracked that bull till dusk and never 
came up with him. Fortunately he took us 
down the valley to the lake where we were 
camped, and we got home at nightfall. 



OUT OF THE FOREST 



CHAPTER IX 

OUT OF THE FOREST 

September 12th was a lovely crisp morn- 
ing with a touch of frost in the air. The lake 
was looking perfect as we turned our backs on 
it, leaving the game country and all the 
chances of another wapiti behind. It was hard 
luck and I think we were all more or less 
depressed. 

We made a good march down the Spruce 
valley till we struck Keogh Lake in the early 
afternoon. This was the route by which we 
should have come in, as it was fairly open, more 
so than any other portion of the forest we had 
gone through. The timber was very fine. A 
small creek ran down the valley, and along it 
there were many beaver dams. 

Beavers are still protected by law through- 
out the island. We saw a large one swimming 
across Keogh Lake when in camp on our way 
in, and at night more than once heard the 
curious noise the beaver makes striking the 

water with his tail as he dives when frightened. 

121 



122 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Needless to say, regardless of all game laws, the 
men had several shots at the beaver without 
doing him any harm. 

Arriving at our old camp at Keogh Lake we 
found the cedar still smouldering. Having 
made a new raft we reached camp at the south 
end of the lake, just as the sky clouded up, 
evidently preparing for another downpour. 

The shores of the Lake were swampy and it 
was with difficulty we found a place to camp. 
It rained that night as if it had never rained 
before. 

Lansdown now jacked up and I find the 
following note in my diary : — 

" Smith still ill and Lansdown now sick 
and very sorry for himself — query, too much 
wapiti meat — we are a sorry crew, but my knee 
is free from pain for the first time since the 
accident occurred." 

In all the discomforts I was to be " up 
against," none of my friends had mentioned 
the possibility of bad weather in September. 

August at the Campbell River had been 
simply an ideal climate, but from August 30th 
to September 26th, it had rained fifteen days 
out of the twenty-eight, and by rain I don't 
mean showers, which were common and did 
not count, but a steady downpour which 
lasted all day, and made marching through the 



OUT OF THE FOREST 123 

undergrowth, alike on fine or wet days, like 
going under a continual shower bath. 

September 13th. It was still raining heavily 
and the men were not very keen on starting. 
Carrying a pack in wet weather is hard work 
and apt to chafe the back. On the other hand, 
I had no prospect of more sport and did not 
care to pay my men 13 J dollars a day that 
they should rest in camp till the weather 
cleared. I determined, therefore, to move on, 
but it was noon before I could get a move on 
the men, and it required some determination 
to effect this. It was certainly a miserable 
march, steady rain the whole time. About 3 
o'clock the men gave up and said they could 
pack no further in such weather. 

We had struck the Kitsewa, which was rush- 
ing down in heavy flood, so camped on its bank. 

Thomson was now feeling seedy, and every 
one was out of sorts and a bit out of temper at 
the vile weather. 

September 14th. The river was down about 
a foot but still very full. After crossing and 
recrossing it about ten times and getting wet 
through, we arrived at our old camp at the 
trapper's hut about 1 p.m. ; a short but fatigu- 
ing march owing to the state of the river. 
We had intended pushing on further after our 
midday meal, but once more torrential rains 



124 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

had set in and we decided to remain where we 
were for the day. 

The river was now simply ahve with hump- 
backed salmon and dozens were lying dead on 
the banks. Bear marks were numerous, but 
the dense undergrowth rendered any chance 
of seeing one remote. " Nigger " was revelling 
in his pursuit of fish and repeatedly dashed 
into the shallows which were boiling with 
salmon struggling up stream, bringing out a 
fish each time, one must have been about six 
pounds. On the march " Dick " had come on 
the fresh track of two wolves and promptly 
started after them. He gave us some anxiety 
for the half-hour he was away, for with all his 
pluck, he would have had a poor chance if he 
had come up with them. I suppose it was the 
deserted hut which recalled to Lansdown's 
mind a grim tale of a trapper's fate. 

The man had started out from civilization 
on his usual winter expedition. Spring came 
and he failed to return, but this did not cause 
any anxiety as trappers lead a nomadic life, 
and it was thought he might have pushed 
further than he intended or found some speci- 
ally good hunting ground. Two years passed 
and his existence had been practically for- 
gotten, when a party cruising the woods for 
timber came on a log hut in a lonely part of 



OUT OF THE FOREST 125 

the forest. Inside they found a man's skele- 
ton lying on the little shelf which constituted 
the bed. By the side was a rifle and the bony 
hand still grasped a twig attached to the 
trigger, a shattered skull told the rest of the 
tale. 

On a bench beside the bed were the tin 
plates, a cup and the mouldy remains of what 
once had been food. 

What a tragedy ! One could picture illness 
coming on and the struggle against it. Too 
weak to pack out, he eventually had to take 
to bed — at first possibly able to get up and 
cook a little food while provisions lasted — 
then his strength gradually declined, the lonely 
nights thinking of the inevitable end, and then 
the final decision possibly hastened by hearing 
the howling of wolves round the log cabin. 

After all, his best friend was his rifle and 
that was close to hand. Who can blame him 
for the decision he had the courage to carry 
out? 

Lansdown was one of the men sent out to 
bury the remains. 

September 15th. The morning was fine 
and we got away about 8.30. Thomson an- 
nounced that the provisions had practically 
run out — no more flour or sugar and we were 
two days from the lake. We had actually 



126 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

left some flour and other provisions behind in 
order to Hghten the paeks. 

Improvidence seems to characterize these 
men of the west. So long as provisions are 
plentiful there is no thought of the future. 

Three spoonfuls of sugar will be put in a cup 
of tea and a two-pound tin of jam will dis- 
appear at a meal — treated as if it were stewed 
fruit, but the future is forgotten. 

To-day the poor dogs had no food at all. 
We ourselves did not fare brilliantly, but a 
short march on the morrow should bring us 
to the Nimquish Lake. We might indeed with 
an effort have made it in the day. 

September 16th. A two hours' march took 
us to the lake and our last meal was taken on 
its shores. It was neither luxurious nor plenti- 
ful — a few crusts of yesterday's bread fried in 
some bacon fat which remained on the pan, 
and a cup of weak tea, for tea too had run out. 

I hunted for and found a portion of the skin 
of the deer I had shot on the first day in and 
which I had thrown into the lake. 

" Dick " and " Nigger " devoured it raven- 
ously. Poor doggies, they had been two days 
without a meal. More faithful or longsuffering 
companions a man never had. They seemed to 
understand we could not give them what we 
had not, and while they looked at us eating 




THE WAPITI. 13 POINTS 




THE SHORE OF LAKE NIMQUISH 



[To face page 126. 



OUT OF THE FOREST 127 

with anxious eyes, when no scraps were thrown 
they resigned themselves to hunger and curled 
up to sleep. 

I reserve for ever a warm corner in my heart 
for " Dick " and " Nigger." 

How " Dick " found his way in the forest 
was always a mystery to me. Of the keenest 
sporting instinct, he considered it his duty to 
pursue any track he came across. Wolf, bear 
or deer were all the same to him. I fear even 
a wapiti would not have been sacred, but in the 
wapiti country, we always tied him up in camp. 

Over and over again he went away giving 
tongue loudly till distance drowned his barks. 
He had no idea in what direction we were 
marching. Sometimes he would be away for 
an hour and we began to fear something had 
happened to him but he invariably turned up 
wagging his tail, having found our tracks and 
followed them. I have seldom met a more 
intelligent dog. 

Coming out of the dense forest and suddenly 
striking the open lake bathed in brilliant sun- 
shine, the effect was dazzling and our eyes 
were almost blinded. Fortunately we saw a 
Siwash canoe across the lake, and were lucky 
enough to find that Mr. Dickenson, one of the 
Directors of a timber company, was up on a 
tour of inspection. 



128 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

He most kindly offered to take me down the 
river in his canoe, and we decided to fish a httle 
on the way down. In the first pool where the 
river left the lake I got a couple of nice cut- 
throat trout, one about 2 lb., on the fly. 

The pool was simply alive with cohoe salmon, 
which could be seen on all sides swimming 
about in the clear water. Mr. Dickenson 
trolling with a spoon was soon in a nice fish of 
about 7 lb., which gave really good sport on a 
light trout rod before it was landed. 

Shooting the rapids in great form we were 
very soon opposite Lansdown's house, where 
I landed. 

And so ended my hunting trip in the Van- 
couver forests. 

I cannot say much in its favour. It was 
timber crawling pure and simple from beginning 
to end — no real stalking, only a snapshot which 
fortunately got me my wapiti. The weather 
had been all against us — the camping grounds, 
with the exception of that on Keogh Lake, 
most uncomfortable. Food was indifferent 
owing to difficulty of finding any game; deer 
there were in numbers, judging by the tracks, 
but one seldom saw them. There were ruffled 
grouse, but Smith was not very successful with 
his pistol, and we only got two or three the 
whole trip. 



OUT OF THE FOREST 129 

With the fishing I was very much dis- 
appointed. The trout in the lakes in the in- 
terior were tiny things, hardly worth catching 
or eating. 

So long as one has to pack, I do not see how 
a really comfortable trip can be made. Dis- 
comfort to a certain extent I don't mind, but 
we had a little too much of it. I had added 
one more experience to a life of varied sport, 
but I mentally resolved that I never again 
would be tempted to hunt the wapiti in the 
Vancouver forest, or indeed, to go on any hunt- 
ing trip which depended on packing for trans- 
port. Who knows whether I shall keep that 
resolve ? 

That night we put up at Lansdown's, and 
never in the best restaurants of Paris or 
London have I enjoyed a meal more than that 
which Mrs. Lansdown with true hospitality 
placed before us, abundance of food — mutton, 
potatoes, and other fresh vegetables, eggs, milk 
and cream. I fear we all ate far too much. 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 



K 2 



CHAPTER X 

AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 

Having still a few days to spare, I decided 
to try for a Rocky Mountain goat on the Main- 
land. 

Lansdown had lived for some years at the 
head of Kingcome Inlet, one of the great inlets 
running in to the Mainland, just behind the 
island on which the town of Alert Bay is 
situated. 

He stated that goats were plentiful but that 
one would have to climb up to the tops of the 
mountains at this season of the year. He also 
pretended to an intimate knowledge of every 
turn and bend of the inlet, and the best camp- 
grounds. I accordingly engaged him and his 
sixteen-feet rowing and sailing boat for the 
trip. 

September 17th. We started early for Alert 
Bay and were fortunate in getting a tow across 
from the timber company's steam launch, and 
arrived at Alert Bay in the early forenoon. 
We laid in ample supplies of provisions at 

183 



134 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

Mr. Chambers' store and with some difficulty I 
got the men to start at 3 p.m. 

My two bottles of rum had long since been 
exhausted though only taken in homoeopathic 
doses. The difficulty was to get more. No 
spirits were allowed to be sold in Alert Bay, a 
passing steamer was the only chance, and fortun- 
ately one was due before we started. 

My friend Mr. Halliday saved the situation. 
He as a magistrate gave me a certificate that 
the rum was required on medical grounds, 
without which the Captain of the steamer 
would have refused to part with any. I was 
the envy of the entire Indian population as I 
left the steamer's side with a bottle of rum 
sticking out of each of my coat pockets. 

It was a lovely evening and though Mr. 
Chambers had offered us a tow with his steam 
launch, which runs to the head of the inlet 
once a fortnight, if we would wait two days, 
I preferred to get away rather than kick my 
heels about Alert Bay. 

Rowing up to the mouth of the inlet with a 
flowing tide we made about seven miles, and 
camped at 6 o'clock on a rocky islet where we 
found an ideal camping ground, near which 
some Siwash Indians had settled for the summer 
fishing. The scenery was superb. A back- 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 135 

ground of the snow-covered mountains of the 
Mainland, in the middle distance many islands 
clad with wood down to the foreshore, a sea 
like glass in which mountains, islands and 
forests were reflected and the surface only 
broken by the eddies of the flowing tide. 
The sunset was glorious and the colouring 
indescribable. 

That evening, we saw a remarkable sight. 
Pilot whales in schools were common at the 
Campbell River, but here came a great whale 
all alone ploughing his way up the inlet and 
coming up every few minutes to blow — once 
he threw his entire body many feet out of the 
water and came down with a crash which 
echoed through the surrounding islands. 

September 18th. After a hearty breakfast 
we got away about 9 a.m., but by 12.45 the 
appetites of the men called for a halt. Noon 
never passed without a spell for food being 
proposed. 

Trolling with a spoon and a hand line, for 
I had left my rod at Alert Bay, I got a nice 
cohoe of about ten pounds, and strange to say 
quite good eating. 

At 4 o'clock a halt for the night was 
suggested, but I would not have it, and as 
Lansdown said there was a good camping 



136 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

ground some four miles away, we pushed 
on. 

The sides of the inlet were so steep that it 
was only in certain places that ground where 
a tent could be pitched was to be found. 

Lansdown had lived twelve years on the 
inlet, but his bump of locality was sadly de- 
ficient, for it took us three and a half hours to 
cover that four miles which must have been 
nearer nine, and I had to take the oar for the 
last two hours. 

At last we reached the cove with a shelving 
sandy beach, but it was pitch dark and the rain 
was coming doAvn, so I fear I was rather short 
with poor Lansdown, who had kept promising 
the camping ground a few yards round every 
point we passed. 

September 19th. The camping ground as 
seen in the daylight was an ideal one. There 
was no undergrowth, and a grassy glade in the 
shelter of the great trees was a perfect site for 
the tents. A head wind had got up and the 
rain was still pouring down, so the prospects 
were not very encouraging, but still by tacking 
and rowing we made about seven miles when 
we were picked up by Mr. Chambers' launch 
and taken on to the head of the inlet where the 
Kingcome River falls into the sea. The 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 137 

scenery all up the inlet was very fine. The hills 
got more and more perpendicular as the head 
of the inlet was approached, and were clothed 
with dense forest down to the water's edge. 
Down the ravines from the hill-tops 3,000 
feet high poured great waterfalls, and rain- 
clouds and mist swept over the tops of the hills, 
giving from time to time a glimpse of distant 
snow-covered peaks some 6,000 feet high. 

The evening was fine and by 6 o'clock we 
were anchored in the river opposite a few 
settlers' houses. 

We found Lansdown's old house, somewhat 
dilapidated but habitable. There was abund- 
ance of sweet hay and it was a luxury to spread 
my blanket on a hay -strewn dry wooden floor 
with a rainproof roof over my head. 

Most of the settlers, including Lansdown's 
strapping brother, came round to have a chat and 
to hear the news from the outside world. They 
seem to have a fairly easy time chiefly raising 
cattle, for the delta formed by the washed-down 
detritus from the hills was a rich white soil on 
which a fine crop of grass was raised. There 
were a good number of wild duck about, and 
the settlers were a sporting lot, so they amused 
themselves with the evening flighting and with 
occasional trips up Mount Kingcome, which 



138 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

overshadowed the valley, after goat, deer and 
bear. 

September 20th. It was a fine morning and 
the snow- covered peaks of Mount Kingcome 
about 6,000 feet above us, where we hoped to 
find our goats, were glistening in the morning 
sun. 

Smith was hors de combat — I had offered to 
send him home from Alert Bay, but he said he 
was quite fit to go on. I think he was a bit 
nervous when he saw the climb before him, for 
carrying a pack up the steep mountain was no 
joke. 

I was fortunate enough to secure the services 
of Harry Kirby, one of the settlers who knew 
the country well and he was willing to take 
Smith's place ; a better man after goat I could 
not wish to have. He was very deaf and 
somewhat outspoken. Looking me over he 
said, " You are too stout for goat," which I 
rather felt to be true, though the trip after 
wapiti had fined me down considerably. I 
was, however, in hard condition by this time, 
and half-way up when we stopped for a midday 
meal, he quietly remarked, " I think after 
all you will do," and so my character as a 
prospective goat-hunter was restored. 

Quite a good track was blazed and cleared 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 139 

for about half-way up the hill, and the path 
though very steep was not bad, only hard on 
the men carrying the packs, so spells for rest 
were fairly frequent. The last half where the 
track had not been cleared was real bad going. 
A great torrent swept down the bottom of the 
steep ravine we were ascending, and it had to 
be crossed many times, which meant a wetting. 

The undergrowth was a dense tangle, fallen 
trees blocked the path and never had we met 
the accursed devil-club in such abundance. 

All things must come to an end, and by 5 
o'clock we were clear of the forest and entered 
a fairly open valley, shut in on all sides by 
steep cliffs. At the end of the valley rose the 
snow-covered summit of Mount Kingcome 
about three miles away. 

We had been marching since 9.30 and had 
ascended about 4,000 feet. We pitched camp 
in the last clump of wood in the valley, and on 
the side of the hill. 

Though the forest ceased, there were dense 
masses of impenetrable cover, consisting of 
salmon-berry, wine-berry and devil-club, for 
about a mile up the valley, after which the 
ground was quite open. 

Large patches of snow were lying on the bare 
hills just above the cover — and while selecting 



140 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

our camping ground, I suddenly saw a black 
object moving across a snow patch about half- 
a-mile across the valley. 

Leaving Kirby and Lansdown to pitch the 
camp I took Thomson with me, and getting 
within about 500 yards of the snow patch, saw 
what looked like a small bear, but as Thomson 
said, " I never saw a bear with a long tail." 
The animal was moving quickly over the snow 
and getting closer every minute to a patch of 
dense cover. No doubt it was a wolverine. I 
had a long shot at about 400 yards and knocked 
up the snow under his belly. In a moment 
he was in the cover and we never saw him 
again. 

Further up towards the head of the valley 
we saw a bear moving across a patch of snow, 
but he, too, disappeared in the cover. Evening 
was now closing in, so we turned towards camp. 
About a mile away, just opposite the camp and 
on some almost precipitous rocks a goat sud- 
denly came into view round a corner of the 
rock. He must have been lying down all the 
time out of sight, and it was bad luck not having 
seen him before, for though to climb the face 
of the cliff was impossible, we might have got 
a long shot from below ; as it was, by the time 
we had got up to the foot of the cliff, it was too 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 141 

dark to shoot, so we decide to leave him till 
next day. 

At last I had reached a game country, having 
seen a wolverine, a bear and goat in one after- 
noon. 

September 21st. It had rained all night 
but cleared up in the morning. Before I had 
turned out, Kirby reported the wolverine 
crossing the same patch of snow opposite the 
camp about half-a-mile away. Slipping on a 
pair of boots, I rushed out in my sleeping 
clothes. Getting the glass on to the beast, I 
found that this time it was a bear making 
tracks for the valley we had come up, and no 
doubt after the salmon which were rotting in 
thousands on the bank of the river below. 

He was into the cover before anything could 
be done in the way of a stalk, and did not appear 
again. 

Examining the ground, I found the valley 
extended up to the base of Mount Kingcome 
for about one and a half miles. The sides were 
precipitous cliffs quite impossible to climb. 
The slope up to their base was clothed with 
dense undergrowth, while a creek fed by the 
melting snow and the rain from the surrounding 
hills was tumbling noisily down below our 
camp. 



142 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

The head of the valley narrowed rapidly 
until completely shut in by the mountains, the 
tops of which were covered with snow. Large 
patches of snow lay in the hollows of the hills 
all round, never melting even in the summer 
months. 

The air was cold, but bracing, just the day 
for a stalk. Spying the valley carefully, I soon 
found a goat high up on the cliff to the right. 
I think it must have been our friend of last 
evening, who had fed along the side of the hill 
to his present position up in the valley. The 
ground did not look impossible, but Kirby pro- 
nounced against it as too dangerous. 

Higher up on a hill-top at the far end and 
just on the edge of the snow, 1 picked up with 
the glass two more goats and we decided to go 
for them. It was easy going to the foot of the 
hill where the valley ended, but a really stiff 
climb of about one and a half hours to get up 
to the patch of snow close to which we had seen 
them, above the line of cover ; the hill-side was 
covered with a sort of heather growing between 
the rocks and it was very slippery going. 

As we arrived at the spot and were looking 
everywhere for the goats, I saw two goats, a 
nanny and a kid, moving away about 400 yards 
off and climbing steadily up the face of the 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 143 

cliff. We both thought they were the two we 
were after, who had seen us or got our wind. 

We were now 6,000 feet up and it was quite 
cold enough without a blizzard which suddenly 
set in with a bitter wind, which drove the snow 
and sleet almost through one. 

We were huddled under a sloping rock, 
trying to get a little shelter, when it struck me 
to send Kirby up and see if by any chance the 
goats were still where we had seen them first, 
as possibly the two we saw moving away were 
another lot. It was lucky I did so, for he was 
back in a few minutes with the good news that 
our goats were feeding quietly in a hollow be- 
hind a ridge not a hundred yards above us. 

I never was so cold in my life, but leaving 
Kirby behind, I crawled up to the top of the 
ridge, and looking over saw to my delight a good 
billy and two nannies feeding a hundred yards 
away. 

Getting into position for a careful shot, I 
proceeded to remove the caps of my telescope 
sight, which I had kept on up to the last moment 
on account of the rain and the snow. 

At the critical moment the front cap jammed, 
and with my half-frozen hands it took me a 
couple of minutes, which seemed hours, to get 
it off. Peering over I saw the goats moving 



144 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

off, they may have got our wind, for heavy 
gales were eddying round the top of the hill. 

The two nannies fortunately went first, the 
billy was moving on pretty quickly behind. I 
had just time to get a shot, another moment 
and he would have disappeared behind some 
rocks, and I heard the welcome thud of the 
bullet; he stood for a moment, and as the ex- 
traordinary vitality of the mountain goat had 
been impressed on me by Kirby, I gave him a 
second shot, and he came rolling down the hill 
like a rabbit, stone dead. 

Had it not been for the jamming of the cap 
I would certainly have got one of the nannies as 
well. He was a fine beast, much heavier and 
bigger than I had expected. 

The snow was still falling and we were both 
shivering with cold. While still undecided 
what to do a momentary break showed us two 
more goats, one a fine billy right across the 
valley and a little higher up, and as the day 
was young we decided to have a try for them. 
Climbing about 500 feet up, we arrived practi- 
cally at the summit and were spying as to the 
best way to try a stalk, for the valley was now 
disturbed and the goats were on the alert and 
looking about in every direction. 

Unfortunately, the snow set in worse than 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 145 

ever and blotted out any view of the hill. To 
attempt a stalk on such dangerous ground 
would have been madness, so we turned back 
and went down to where we had left the dead 
goat. The cold was now so intense we could 
not remain to skin the goat, so made straight 
for camp. The going on the way down was as 
bad as it could be. The newly-fallen snow 
lying on the heather had made it very slippery 
and almost dangerous. I had many a slip 
but generally landed sitting down, and arrived 
at the foot of the hill bruised but thankful, 
for after all I had got my goat. This was real 
sport : to find your game, mark him down and 
then an honest stalk, ending in a kill; but it 
was stiff work and a little too much for a 
man of my age. 

We had come down about 2,000 feet, 
and the snow had turned into rain, which 
felt quite warm and comforting after the 
blizzard on the hill-top. Kirby was so cold, he 
asked leave to go ahead, and I soon saw him 
running down the valley and skipping like a 
goat from rock to rock. Taking it easier, I 
got to camp about 5 o'clock, fairly tired out. 

September 22nd. It rained and snowed all 
night, and for the first time the little tent was 
not waterproof. The weather cleared about 



146 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

8 a.m., and the morning sun broke through 
the rain clouds and mists which were sweeping 
away from the hill-tops; the effect was most 
beautiful. 

The hills where we had been stalking yester- 
day were entirely covered with snow, and 
patches were lying far down in the valley. I 
sent Kirby and Lansdown up to skin the goat 
and bring in the head and skin, while I made 
preparations for striking the camp and going 
down the mountain on their return. 

They returned about noon, and we were just 
preparing to start when I saw a bear — probably 
the same one we had seen before, moving 
rapidly up the valley at the foot of the cliff 
and across one of the numerous patches of 
snow. Seizing the rifle I dashed down, fol- 
lowed by Thomson, to try and get a shot. I 
left my coat, in which I always carried spare 
cartridges, behind. 

By the time I had crossed the creek, the 
bear was well ahead and looked about 300 yards 
away. Putting up the 300 yards sight, I knelt 
down, rather breathless and shaky from my run, 
and fired. The bullet knocked up the snow in 
a good line but short. This started him off at 
a run and he was getting farther and farther 
away as I fired two more shots, which also 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 147 

struck low. My last chance was another shot 
before he reached the thick cover, and, aiming 
right over his back, I hit him, where I could not 
say. He must have been 400 yards away 
when I fired. On being hit, he stumbled for- 
ward and turned right down hill into some 
dense undergrowth which extended right down 
to the creek. 

Having only one cartridge left, I sent 
Thomson back to camp for cartridges, and sat 
down behind the rock from which I had fired 
to await events. My impression was that he 
was badly hit and that we would have to follow 
him up in the cover. To my surprise, I sud- 
denly saw him come out of the cover and come 
down to the creek. He was not more than 
150 yards away and passing between a lot 
of big boulders, and it looked as if he were 
heading up the valley. 

Thinking it was my last chance, I fired and 
saw the bullet hit a rock just over his back. 
To my horror, I then realized I had left the 
telescope sight screwed up to 300 yards. Worse 
luck was to follow, for the shot turned him 
and he came down the creek towards me, 
very slowly and looking very sick. There 
was I without a cartridge and a wounded 
bear apparently walking on top of me. I lay 

L 2 



148 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

quite quietly behind m}^ rock, and had the 
pleasure of seeing him come within thirty yards, 
when he turned slowly and, crossing the creek, 
entered the dense undergrowth on the other 
side just as Thomson came up with the cart- 
ridges. It was as bad a moment as I have ever 
experienced in my sporting life. At first we 
could trace his movements by the shaking of 
the bushes, and at one time, this ceasing, he 
apparently lay down. 

I knew it was hopeless following him in such 
undergrowth, for not only was there the danger 
of being charged, but if even I could have made 
my way through the tangle, it would have been 
impossible to put the rifle to my shoulder. 
Thomson would not give him up, but begged 
I would lend him my rifle and he would follow 
him up. 

I returned to camp utterly disgusted, and in 
about one hour Thomson returned, saying he 
had crawled through the cover, found lots of 
blood, saw the bear once in the distance, but 
could not get a shot. The worst of it was, it 
was now too late to start, and to make matters 
more depressing, rain and sleet fell all the 
afternoon and night. 

September 23rd. The rain had now turned 
to snow, which was lying as low down as the 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 149 

level of the camp. Everything was sodden, 
and a wet march was before us. 

We got away by 9 o'clock, and had a 
hard march as the creek was now a roaring 
torrent, which we had to cross and recross 
several times. Going on the rough boulders, 
over and round which the flood was pouring, 
was as bad as it well could be, and we were all 
wet through by the time we reached the cleared 
track. Our last view of the valley, before we 
entered the forest, was superb. The rain had 
cleared away, a bright sun was breaking 
through the heavy clouds, which were being 
swept away from the summits of the snow-clad 
hills and from the slopes of the valley, now 
dazzling white in the morning sun, while look- 
ing back through the forest we were just entering 
the trees stood out in black silhouette against 
a background of snow. It was with deep 
regret I turned my back on the Goat Valley, 
where I had seen more game in two days than 
in all the rest of my trip. 

By 3 o'clock we reached the Kingcome 
River, but it was too late to make a start that 
night. 

September 24th. We got away at 8.15. 
The morning was fine, and the inlet and snow- 
covered peaks behind looked very beautiful. 



150 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

The current always runs down this inlet irre- 
spective of the tide, though it is, of course, 
stronger with the ebb. We made only one 
halt for lunch, and by 7.15 p.m. reached 
Quiesden — a deserted Indian village thirty 
miles from the head of the inlet; not a bad 
performance, as we had to row the whole 
way. 

Here we found an empty mission house, and 
Lansdown somewhat burglariously effected an 
entrance through a window and opened the 
door from inside. We soon had a fire going in 
the dilapidated stove, and settled down com- 
fortably for the night on the bare boards. 
They were at least dry and we had a roof over 
our heads. The walls of the sitting-room were 
mostly decorated with texts, but a coloured 
illustration representing a young naval officer 
making violent love to an extremely pretty 
girl showed that even missionaries have a 
human side to their nature. 

The village was entirely deserted, all the 
inhabitants being away fishing. There were 
some fine totem poles, and the woods all round 
were the cemetery of the neighbourhood — the 
bodies of many departed Siwashes, packed in 
boxes or bundles, being slung up in the forks 
of the trees — the Siwash method of burial. 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 151 

September 25th. Leaving Quiesden at 8.15, 
we had a fine saihng breeze which before night 
had increased to half a gale, and on arrival at 
Alert Bay, about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, 
Mr. Chambers most hospitably put me up till 
my old friend the Queen City, due at 1 a.m., 
should arrive. 

September 26th. The Queen City did not 
arrive till noon, and bidding good-bye to my 
kind friends at Alert Bay and to Lansdown, 
who was returning to his farm on the Nimquish, 
we were soon on our way to Vancouver. 

Accounts had to be made up and good-bye 
said to Smith and Thomson and my dear 
friends " Dick " and " Nigger," for they were 
all to be landed at some unearthly hour in the 
morning at Quatiaski Cove. All the roughing 
was over, and the comforts of civilization were 
before me, yet it was with sincere regret that 
I saw the last of my friends and companions. 
The discomforts were forgotten, the sodden 
forest, the rain, the indifferent food, and the 
poor sport, but the impressive scenery of the 
vast Vancouver forest, the still lakes and 
rushing creeks, and the beauty of the Kingcome 
inlet, with its setting of snow-covered moun- 
tains, will remain indelibly impressed on my 
memory, and as the prospect of future trips 



152 SPORT IN VANCOUVER 

becomes more remote, the recollections of those 
days will always be with me. The call of the 
wild may be as strong as ever, but the capacity 
to respond to it must diminish as years roll on. 
The man who has not a love for the solitudes 
of nature and the simple life in camp, misses 
experiences which to me at least have been 
amongst the keenest enjoyments of my life. 

September 27th. We arrived at Vancouver 
about 5 p.m. That day I saw Mr. Williams, 
just returned from inspection and sport in the 
Kootenay district. He reported game plentiful 
and brought back two fine sheep heads which 
he had secured after hard work and stiff 
climbing. 

I left Vancouver on the 29th and, changing 
trains at Winnipeg, arrived at Toronto on 
October 3rd — four hours late from Winnipeg. 

Leaving Toronto the next morning, I spent 
that evening and the following day at Niagara 
Falls, arriving in New York in the early morn- 
ing of the 6th. Through the kindness of Mr. 
Griswold, I had been made an honorary member 
of the Knickerbocker and Union Clubs. More 
luxurious and better-managed clubs could not 
be found in any capital of Europe. 

At 10 a.m. I was once more steaming out 
of New York on the Blucher, one of the slower 



AFTER GOAT ON THE MAINLAND 153 

steamers of the Hamburg-Amerika Line, and 
after a most comfortable voyage, with charming 
fellow-passengers, I disembarked at Southamp- 
ton on the 17th — just three months and seven 
days from leaving England. 



NEWFOUNDLAND, 1910 



TO NEWFOUNDLAND 



NEWFOUNDLAND 




33 Y.'^ojtb^sKiXf, OK-\t,ri,\q 



[To face page 150. 



CHAPTER I 

TO NEWFOUNDLAND 

Notwithstanding my resolve that the Van- 
couver trip should be my last one, the call of 
the wild was once more too strong, and the sum- 
mer of 1910 found me planning an expedition 
to Newfoundland. 

I think J. G. Millais' charming book New- 
foundland and its Untrodden Ways, as well 
as the description he personally gave me of 
the country, were largely responsible for my 
decision. 

I sailed from Southampton on August 5th 
by the Cincinnati, of the Hamburg-Amerika 
Line, bound for St. John's, Newfoundland, via 
New York. 

The ship was crowded and the voyage as 
monotonous as all Atlantic voyages are, while 
being a slow boat we only arrived at New 
York on the morning of the 14th. The heat 
of New York was intense, and I was not sorry 
to leave it at midnight for Boston, and straight 
on via St. John's, New Brunswick, to Sydney, 
where I took the Bruce, which runs between 

159 



160 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

Sydney and Port aux Basques, Newfoundland, 
a distance of a hundred miles. 

I would recommend any one who is taking 
this route, and is not a total abstainer, to pro- 
vide himself with a bottle of whisky, for Maine, 
through which a good portion of the journey 
lies, is a teetotal state, and even on board the 
Bruce not a drop of any form of liquor, even 
beer, was allowed to be served until the steamer 
was under way. 

Getting away at eleven o'clock, and after a 
rather rough passage, for the Bruce is only 
about 800 tons, we arrived at Port aux Basques 
at 7 a.m. on the 17th. 

It was a lovely morning, and the rocky shores 
of Newfoundland looked particularly wild and 
attractive in the bright sunshine. Port aux 
Basques is a small settlement, and so far as I 
could ascertain does not contain an hotel, but 
no doubt some form of lodging-house exists, 
where, as throughout the island, the visitor 
would be given a warm welcome and whatever 
was going, be it little or much. 

The train was waiting for the steamer. The 
line is a narrow-gauge one, but the cars were 
quite comfortable, and the prospect of seeing 
a new country is always attractive. But how 
we did bump over that line ; whether it was the 
fault of the laying of the permanent way or the 



TO NEWFOUNDLAND 161 

driving I cannot say, but in a long experience 
of railway travelling I never have been so jolted, 
the driver seeming to take a special pleasure 
in pulling up with a jerk sufficient to knock 
over any one standing up, and then to start, if 
possible, in a rougher manner. However, no 
one seemed to mind, and after all passengers 
should be grateful for having a line at all. 
My mouth watered at accounts I heard of sea 
trout fishing, about three hours by launch from 
Port aux Basques. I was told that a few days 
previously three rods got 110 sea trout, averag- 
ing three pounds, in the Garia River, in a few 
hours. 

Getting away at 8.15 we passed all along the 
west coast, through a most beautiful country, 
teeming with salmon rivers, most of them I fear 
much over- fished, for the west coast rivers are 
the favourite haunts of the American angler, 
being easily reached from New York and 
Boston. 

Thompson's Hotel, prettily situated on the 
Little Codroy River, looked particularly attrac- 
tive, and two American anglers got off there. 
I was told there was a late run of big fish in 
August, an exception, for as a rule all the 
Newfoundland rivers are early ones. 

At Crabbes a local guide, on the look-out 
for a job, deeply deplored the fact that Crabbes 

M 



162 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

should be neglected for the better-known Little 
and Big Codroy Rivers. He assured me there 
were two rivers, the one ten minutes, the other 
about two minutes, from the station, " crawl- 
ing " of course with fish, and that a thirty-five 
pound salmon had been caught by a local 
angler a few days before. No doubt he was cry- 
ing up his own wares. There was neither hotel 
nor boarding-house at Crabbes — camping out 
was necessary, but the country is a lovely one, 
and what could be more enjoyable than a 
comfortable camp on the banks of the river 
if only the fish were there and the water in 
fishing trim. Black flies and mosquitoes must 
not, however, be lightly put aside, for they are 
the curse of the island in the summer months. 

As we slowly bumped our way north, the 
scenery became more and more beautiful, until 
it culminated in the views as the train skirted 
the Humber River, then along Deer Lake, 
gradually rising towards the barrens of the 
centre of the island. All along the sides of the 
railway the ground was carpeted with wild 
flowers, a perfect blaze of colour. Nightfall 
found us at the north end of the Grand Lake, 
where is situated " The Bungalow," a sporting 
hotel recently established, which from the train 
looked most comfortable. 

The food in the dining-car was quite good, 



TO NEWFOUNDLAND 163 

but by no means cheap. Why one should pay 
40 cents, about Is. Sd., for a shce of fried cod 
in the very home of the cod, when a whole fish 
can be purchased for half the money, I could 
not understand, and although Newfoundland 
abounds in fish neither trout nor salmon were 
once served in the restaurant car. 

On Thursday the 18th I arrived at St. John's 
at 12.30, having travelled without a stop from 
the previous Sunday at midnight. It is much 
to be regretted that the direct Allan Line from 
Liverpool to St. John's, which only takes seven 
days, should not have larger and more up-to- 
date steamers. The largest boat is under 5,000 
tons; not very comfortable for crossing the 
Atlantic. As the Allan Line run excellent 
boats to Quebec, there must be some good 
reason for the local service to St. John's not 
being better served. 

Leaving England on August 5th, and travel- 
ling continuously, I did not reach St. John's 
till the 18th. It is true I took a slow boat and 
came by New York. A better route would 
have been by one of the larger steamers to 
Quebec or Rimouski, and then back by rail to 
Sydney, and so on to Port aux Basques. 

If the large steamers which pass so close to 
Newfoundland would only make a call at St. 
John's, to disembark passengers, I feel sure 

M 2 



164 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

many more tourists would be tempted to visit 
the island. 

I was met at the station by Mr. Blair, Jr., 
whose firm were to provide all my outfit except 
camp equipment, which I had sent ahead from 
England. I was much indebted to him for 
valuable information and advice. 

I was, I must confess, very disappointed with 
St. John's, which is not worthy to be the 
capital of England's oldest colony, and the less 
said about hotel accommodation the better. 
The best hotel was really only an indifferent 
boarding-house, and could not compare in 
comfort with the hotel of any small provincial 
town at home. 

St. John's possessing few attractions for me, 
I decided to get away as soon as possible. 
When I left England the steamer Glencoe, 
which sails from Placentia to Port aux Basques, 
all along the south coast, was timed to leave 
every Saturday, but the saihng had been 
altered to Wednesday, leaving me with some 
idle days, which I could not face in St. 
John's. 

I had heard of sea trout fishing and possible 
salmon in the south-east arm of Placentia, 
where good accommodation was to be had at 
a fishing inn, known as Fulford's. Wiring to 
Mr. Fulford to know if the sea trout were 



TO NEWFOUNDLAND 165 

running, the answer came back that they were 
all in the ponds, which I did not quite under- 
stand at the time, but anything was better than 
five days in St. John's, so on Saturday, August 
20th, I started by the morning train for 
Placentia and Fulford's. 

The rain came down in torrents as we left 
St. John's at 8.45 a.m. and lasted till we arrived 
at Placentia at 1.45 — eighty miles in five hours. 
These Newfoundland trains are certainly not 
flyers. 

Placentia is very beautifully situated at the 
junction of the two arms of the sea, known as 
the south-east and the north-east arms. The 
main town is on a spit of land which extends 
out into the sea, making the one entrance to 
either arm a very narrow channel, and through 
this the full force of the tide races, causing 
whirlpools and eddies which looked anything 
but safe. The foreshore was composed of large 
round stones, not pebbles, and the roar of these 
as they washed up and down the beach by the 
waves is one of the characteristics of Placentia. 
They say the people of Placentia talk louder 
than any one else in the island on account of 
this. 

I was met at the station by George Kelly 
from Fulford's, who told me he had a buggy 
waiting for me across the ferry; but food was 



166 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

first necessary, and I got a mess of meat at 
the local hotel for 35 cents. On asking for 
a glass of beer or a whisky-and-soda, I was told 
they only kept " sober drinks," an expression 
which I heard for the first time. 

The traveller in Newfoundland must recon- 
cile himself to teetotalism and tea, unless he 
can carry his own liquor along. Even at the 
hotel in St. John's only very indifferent beer 
was obtainable with meals; for anything else 
one had to go round the corner to a second-rate 
public-house. Now all this seems very un- 
necessary, for it would appear to me that there 
is much greater chance of a man getting drunk 
if he finds himself set down in a public-house 
after dinner than if he could obtain what he 
reasonably required in his hotel. But all New- 
foundland drinks tea, and the sensible traveller 
will adapt himself to the local customs, as well 
as to the midday dinner and the light early 
tea or supper. 

The ferry was only a couple of hundred yards 
across, and George and I were soon on our way 
to Fulford's. 

The drive was a lovely one, the road winding 
high up over the south-east arm. The weather 
had cleared up, the sun was shining brightly, 
the hills were glistening in the sunshine after 
the heavy rain, and every little stream had 



TO NEWFOUNDLAND 167 

become a roaring torrent, which George said 
promised well for the fishing. 

After a five-mile drive we arrived at Fulford's 
and I was warmly welcomed by Mr. Fulford 
and his wife, really charming people. The 
house was scrupulously clean. Fortunately 
for me, I was the only guest, and I can only say 
Mrs. Fulford gave me the best food I had in 
Newfoundland, while her terms were even more 
than moderate. The situation of the house 
was very beautiful, overlooking the mouth of 
the river, which was about a mile away. 

I naturally inquired first about the fishing. 

It seemed I was too late for the sea trout in 
the river itself, at least in its lower reaches. 
The sea trout run about July 14th, in great 
numbers, but only for a short time. The 
salmon run earlier. 

In the season Fulford's is crammed, anglers 
sleeping anywhere all over the house, and 
struggling with each other for the best water. 

The river, after a run of about four miles, 
falls out of what are locally termed ponds — what 
we would call lochs — and at this season of the 
year all the fish were in these lochs. At 
certain distances they are connected one with 
the other by short runs of a few yards, and here 
the fish lie. These are known as the four-mile, 
five-mile, six-mile and seven-mile pools. 



168 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

Starting off about 4 o'clock, I drove up to 
the four-mile pool. The road was fairly good, 
winding along above the river through the wood, 
and the drive was most enjoyable. As we 
gradually ascended, the view, looking back over 
the south-east arm, was very beautiful, remind- 
ing me very much of Scotch scenery in Suther- 
land. 

The entire country was saturated from the 
morning rain, and we started in our waders, 
as George said we had swampy ground to pass 
through before reaching the pool. Hitching 
up the horse where a pathway branched off, we 
plunged through a very wet swamp for a few 
hundred yards down to the pool. 

The water was pouring down from the upper 
loch, the pool was full of fish all on the move 
for the run up to the higher waters, the evening 
was closing in — the black flies and mosquitoes 
were troublesome. Though I cast over many 
fish I never got a rise. Getting home at dusk 
I found an excellent dinner of roast fowl and 
wild raspberries and cream awaiting me. 

The next morning we started early for the 
seven- mile pool. The going was pretty rough 
but the scenery very beautiful. We gradually 
emerged from the woods on to the higher and 
more open ground. A half-mile walk through 
a very wet marsh brought us to the bank of the 



TO NEWFOUNDLAND 169 

stream between the two lochs, which was in 
perfect order. It was only a few yards wide 
and I could cover the entire fishable water with 
my fourteen-foot Castleconnell rod. I rose 
several fish, killed three who gave good sport, 
and lost a fly in another. As the water was 
about fished out we went down to the six-mile 
pool, where I killed one and lost another, but 
the fish were all small, 5|, 4 J, 4, 3 J lb. 

The following day we again tried the seven- 
mile pool, but the water had run down and 
there was little or no stream between the two 
lochs. I got one fish of 4 lb., and never saw 
another. As there was little chance of more 
salmon I asked my host if there were any trout 
in the neighbourhood. He strongly advised 
me trying a loch nine miles up the road, where 
he and a friend had got twenty-seven dozen 
mud trout (? char) in one day's fishing the 
previous year. After a rough drive over a 
very bad road for the last three miles we found 
the loch, but it was so overgrown with water- 
lilies that there was not a square yard of water 
on which to cast a fly. Whether they had 
grown up since his visit and whether they died 
down later on in the season I cannot say, but 
we had wasted our day. I could not under- 
stand the river ; thousands of sea trout run up 
but I never saw or rose one. It was hardly 



170 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

a river, but a series of lochs with connecting 
streams. There were no boats on the lochs, 
but I had hoped to find sea trout in the tail of 
the streams. Not one, however, did I even 
see rise. There are a number of lochs about 
nine miles up. Whether they contained fish 
or not I cannot say. I think it would well 
repay Mr. Fulford, who is the fish warden of 
the district, to investigate the habits of the 
sea trout and find out where they eventually 
lie, presumably in the upper lochs, and put 
boats on. The salmon I got were in good con- 
dition and excellent eating. Driving home in 
the evening about sunset, we generally saw 
quite a number of Nova Scotia hares, locally 
called rabbits, sitting out on the road. I saw 
no other game of any description, though there 
are plenty of partridges (ruffled grouse) in the 
neighbourhood. 

The steamer was due to sail from Placentia 
on the 24th inst., at 3 p.m., so I left Fulford's 
with much regret at 10.30 a.m. and drove into 
Placentia, where I found she would not sail 
till midnight owing to the amount of cargo. 

Going into the Post Office to inquire for 
letters, I was told I must see the Communion 
Plate of the Protestant Church, which was kept 
in the Post Office. It was a very handsome 
service of plate presented by Prince William 



TO NEWFOUNDLAND 171 

Henry, who as a young naval officer passed a 
winter in Placentia, then I believe the capital 
of the island. It was weary work getting 
through the day till the steamer sailed. Every 
berth was taken, so I had a shakedown in the 
corridor, which was much more airy than any 
cabin. 



TO LONG HARBOUR 



CHAPTER II 

TO LONG HARBOUR 

In planning my trip I had the benefit of 
J. G. Millais' advice. He first recommended 
me to try the country at the head of the La 
Poile River on the south coast near Port aux 
Basques. On inquiry I found out that canoes 
could not be used. Everything would have 
to be packed, and it would take six men to pack 
to the hunting grounds. With the memory 
of my Vancouver trip before me, I decided 
against the La Poile country and packing, and 
chose the ground Millais had hunted with such 
success in 1906. He had gone in by the Long 
Harbour River, struck off to the north-west 
to Kesoquit and Shoe Hill Ridge and the Mount 
Sylvester region. But the Long Harbour 
River was very rough, and his canoes being at 
Hungry Grove Pond, where a series of ponds 
led up to Sandy Pond or Jubilee Lake, its more 
modern name, I finally decided on this route, 
which would bring me quite close to Shoe Hill 
Ridge and Mount Sylvester. 

175 



176 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

Millais himself had not travelled over this 
ground, so the map published in his book only 
gave an approximate idea of the country and 
its waterways. I had secured the services of 
Steve Bernard, Millais' head man, and he was 
to meet me with two other Indians at the head 
of Long Harbour when I would send a wire. 

My route was to be Placentia to Belleoram 
by the Glencoe. At Belleoram Mr. Ryan, who 
is in charge of the telegraph station at the head 
of Long Harbour, was to meet me in his sailing 
schooner the Caribou, and from Long Harbour 
we were to pack in to Hungry Grove Pond, 
where the canoes were to be ready. 

We did not get away from Placentia till 
1 a.m., and crossing Placentia Bay arrived at 
Burin the following morning in a thick fog, 
which occasionally lifted, showing a fine, wild 
coast with rocky headlands on all sides. Burin 
was a pretty spot, and I saw it better on my 
return when there was no fog. We arrived at 
Grand Bank, a big fishing town, in the evening, 
but the fog outside was so thick that the 
Captain decided to anchor till 2 a.m. and then 
cross Fortune Bay to Belleoram. 

Grand Bank was responsible for the change 
in the sailing date of the Glencoe. Leaving 
Placentia on Saturday she was due at Grand 
Bank on Sunday. The inhabitants being very 



TO LONG HARBOUR 177 

religious objected to loading and unloading on 
Sunday, so the sailing was changed to Wednes- 
day, and their consciences were satisfied. 
They forgot, however, that they made some 
smaller port of call further west break the 
Sabbath, but being one of the most important 
shipping centres in the cod season their views 
had to be met. 

We arrived at Belleoram at 6 a.m. on the 
26th, feeling our way along the coast with our 
foghorn. 

I and my belongings were turned out on the 
pier and I felt my trip had at last begun. 

The Caribou was in harbour and a boat put 
off with Steve Bernard, who had come down to 
meet me and help Mr. Ryan, who was laid up 
on board with a bad leg. I at once went out 
to call on Mr. Ryan, as I wanted to get away as 
soon as possible. I found a sturdy Irishman 
of about sixty, full of go and energy, and in the 
cheeriest spirits, only extremely annoyed at 
the bad leg, which made him pretend to lie up, 
for lie up he never did, his restless nature 
would not allow it, and he was always on the 
move. 

His illness began with a boil, but he would 
go off into the woods after caribou and so 
irritated it, that the boil had developed into a 
large sloughing ulcer with considerable inflam- 



178 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

mation. He did not seem to mind it much and 
insisted on hobbling about the deck. 

There was only one place at which I was recom- 
mended to put up in case I had to stay in Belle- 
oram, so I went up to call on Mrs. Cluett and 
incidentally forage for breakfast. I received a 
courteous welcome and had plenty of eggs, bread 
and butter, and tea. Getting back to the Caribou 
I persuaded Ryan to make a start. There was 
a thick fog and it was blowing hard ; however, 
away we went in grand style, steering for the 
different points which loomed through the fog. 
As soon as we got into the open and had to 
cross some twelve or fourteen miles of open sea, 
an ancient and dilapidated compass was pro- 
duced from the confusion of below, for the 
Caribou was not altogether a tidy boat; the 
compass gave a certain moral support, but the 
needle refused to point in any direction steadily 
for more than five minutes. Ryan would give 
it a smack, " Sure I think she's only about five 
points out now," and in a few minutes, " She's 
gone all wrong again." 

I was entrusted with the steering, which may 
account for our sighting land about four miles 
north of the entrance to Long Harbour. It 
was a pretty rough crossing, but the old Caribou 
was a seaworthy and dry boat. The weather 
was what one expects of Newfoundland, wild 



TO LONG HARBOUR 179 

and foggy, and the mountains looming up out 
of the fog looked bigger and grander than they 
really were. 

We had a rattling following breeze, and not- 
withstanding Ryan's assertion that there would 
be no fog at his house, we ran up the fourteen 
miles of Long Harbour and arrived there about 
4 o'clock in the afternoon in a dense fog, 
having left Belleoram at 10 a.m. Here I 
found waiting my two other Indians, John 
Denny Jeddore and Steve Joe. My party con- 
sisted then of Steve Bernard, head man and 
hunter, John Denny Jeddore, generally known 
as John Denny, and Steve Joe, who had to 
become Joe. 

John Denny at once told me he had signed 
on as cook, but added quaintly : " I have never 
cooked for gentles." All the same he was an 
excellent plain cook, ready to learn anything, 
scrupulously clean in all his cooking, and a first- 
rate fellow. Joe was general utility man and 
always cheery. Steve Bernard was a pure 
bred Micmac, his father having been chief of 
the Micmac tribe, and the other two were half- 
breeds. John Denny's mother was a French- 
woman, which perhaps accounted for his extra- 
ordinarily nice manners. My men were some- 
what shy and reserved at first, but we soon 
became great friends, and I can only say I 

N 2 



180 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

never wish for better men or comrades on a 
hunting expedition. We never had a word of 
difference. They were always bright and will- 
ing, and under the most uncomfortable circum- 
stances never uttered a word of complaint. 
I think I may say we parted with mutual 
regret. They all spoke English, but Steve 
Bernard was the most fluent. Amongst them- 
selves they chattered in their own soft Micmac 
language, and they never seemed to stop talk- 
ing. All Newfoundlanders have a specially 
charming accent, which is neither Irish nor 
Canadian, and certainly not American. It is 
very soft and mellifluous. " All right," pro- 
nounced as if it were " aal," is the most com- 
mon expression, and seems to be used on every 
possible occasion. 

All my men, instead of di'opping their " h's " 
in the Cockney fashion, seemed to aspirate 
almost every word beginning with a vowel, 
for instance they always spoke of h'oil, h'oar, 
h'eat, and h'arm, and so with many other words. 

The Micmacs are Catholics, and their head- 
quarters in Canada are at Restigouche. Their 
settlement in Newfoundland is on the Conne 
River. A priest from Restigouche visits Conne 
River from time to time and preaches in Mic- 
mac. At Restigouche are published the Bible, 
Catechism and other books in Micmac, which 



TO LONG HARBOUR 181 

has the same character as Enghsh but only 
sixteen letters. A Micmac paper is also 
published at Restigouche and received once 
a month at Conne River. Steve was very 
amusing over the raising of funds for the 
construction of a new church at Conne River. 
Apparently a sort of bazaar was held at which 
the chief feature was a " Wheel of Fortune." 
Steve felt rather sore that he had gambled 
fifteen dollars and won nothing. All the 
Micmac colony, however, seemed to have 
enjoyed themselves hugely, gambling, dancing, 
and eating; they provided the food and after- 
wards paid for each meal — good for the church ! 
Ryan's niece kept house for him at Long 
Harbour — a lonely spot with only one other 
settler within twelve miles, and I received from 
uncle and niece the warm welcome which every 
traveller in Newfoundland is sure to meet with. 
The morning of the 27th was exquisite, the 
fog had cleared away, the sun was shining 
brightly, and the placid head-waters of Long 
Harbour lay without a ripple at our feet. The 
hills were not high but beautiful in colour and 
outline, and I might easily have imagined 
myself in a Scotch deer forest. Cases of stores 
had to be unpacked, tent and camp equipment 
looked out, and the morning was spent in 
making up the loads. 



182 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

I had brought an 11-feet square fly for the 
three men, two tents for myself, both of the 
lean-to pattern, one heavier and stronger tent 
of green canvas 7 feet x 7 feet, the other the 
6 feet X 7 feet silk tent I had used in Vancouver, 
and which weighed only 5 lb, my idea being to 
use it for short trips from the main camp. One 
pair of Hudson Bay blankets made into a sleep- 
ing bag, a pillow, the usual cooking tins in nests, 
and the folding baker completed my outfit. 
This latter is simply invaluable; I purchased 
one locally in St. John's. 

Camp furniture I had none, but as experience 
had taught me that the comfort of a bed of 
balsam on the ground was somewhat overrated, 

1 had brought a sheet of strong canvas 7 feet x 

2 feet 9 inches, with gussets on either side, and 
eyelet holes at the top and bottom. Into the 
gussets were slipped strong poles and these laid 
on two logs at the head and foot in which 
notches were cut to receive them, and then the 
poles were nailed down with one 3-inch nail at 
each end, and the canvas at the head and foot 
laced round the logs. 

A more comfortable camp bed it was im- 
possible to have and it took about ten minutes 
to construct. With men such as I had, 
skilful with their axes, to bring camp furniture 
was unnecessary: tables, benches, poles for 



TO LONG HARBOUR 183 

hanging clothes, rifle and gun rests, can 
easily be made, and one day in a permanent 
camp is sufficient to have all a hunter can 
want. My men were as good as, if not better 
than the French Canadians I employed when 
hunting moose in Canada some nine years 
before. They introduced me to a bench or 
camp seat I had never seen before. A suitable 
tree with outstanding branches is cut down, 
a short section chosen, on which, on one side 
at least, there are four branches to form the legs ; 
this is split in two and an excellent camp stool 
is the result. 

I found we had eight loads, which meant 
double journeys as far as Hungry Grove Pond, 
so I started off Joe and John Denny with two 
packs, while Steve and I took a light camp up 
to Mitchell's Point, where the river ran into the 
head of the Long Harbour and from which I 
was assured I could get some good sea trout 
fishing. We had camp pitched and our mid- 
day meal over by 3 o'clock, so started up the 
river for the sea trout on which we depended 
for dinner. It was a rough journey along 
the river bank or in its bed, and although all 
the water looked tempting it was 5 o'clock 
before we reached the pool in which the fish 
were supposed to be. 

Long Harbour River is one of the biggest 



184 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

rivers in the south and in the early summer a 
large number of salmon and sea trout run up, 
but like most Newfoundland rivers that I saw, 
the pools alternated with long shallow runs, 
where no fish would lie. There were certainly 
some beautiful pools, so it was a disappointment, 
more especially as regards dinner, that I only 
rose one fish and hooked another which broke 
away. Steve unfortunately cut his foot with 
the small axe in making camp. It looked 
nothing, but on his way up the river the wound 
opened and bled rather freely. I fixed him 
up with a pad and a bandage, and dressed it 
on our return to camp with 1/1000 corrosive 
sublimate solution made from tabloids, without 
which I never travel. 

We had only about half-an-hour to fish if we 
would get back to camp, some four miles away, 
before dark, so we really did not give the water 
a fair chance. We did not get into camp till 
about 8.30. Steve declared he was first-rate 
at slapjacks, so while I prepared a square of 
Lazenby's soup he set to work on the slapjacks. 
After using half a tin of butter he produced a 
sodden mass of dough, on which and the soup 
we made a poor meal. 

The flies and mosquitoes were very trouble- 
some, but Farlow's "dope" was fairly successful. 

Our camping ground was too near the river 



TO LONG HARBOUR 185 

and on rather low ground. A very heavy dew 
fell during the night and everything was soak- 
ing in the morning. As the fishing was not 
likely to prove a success we decided to return 
to Ryan's and push on after our men. Getting 
away about 12 o'clock, for I had sent Steve 
back to Ryan's on foot to borrow their dory 
which brought our camp up, we stopped to 
boil the kettle and have lunch near a settler's 
place just beyond the mouth of the river. He 
was a hardy old man, by name Joe Riggs, 
and though he had recently undergone several 
operations in the hospital at St. John's to 
remove some diseased ribs, he was working 
away all alone getting in his hay. He was very 
lonely and sad for he had only recently lost his 
wife, and the way he spoke about her was very 
touching. In winter, however, he went down 
to Anderson's Cove, a small settlement at the 
mouth of Long Harbour, where a married 
daughter lived. Among the solitary settlers 
I met, of whom Joe Riggs was a type, it was 
remarkable how the spot they had selected for 
settling on was the very finest to be found, and 
to poor old Joe, Long Harbour was a sort of 
earthly Paradise which he would not exchange 
for any other part of Newfoundland. 

On reaching Ryan's, where I was ashamed 
to trespass once more on his hospitality for the 



186 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

night, I found John Denny and Joe had taken 
two packs on about eleven miles, to a spot about 
three miles from Hungry Grove Pond and 
returned for more loads. 

I took another Indian, Micky John by name, 
to help and the three men started off about 
3 o'clock. Two were to return the next day, 
while John Denny was to make a double trip 
down to Hungry Grove Pond. 



TO THE HUNTING GROUNDS 



CHAPTER III 

TO THE HUNTING GROUNDS 

The following day, the 29th, I had to wait 
for the men to come back, so did not start till 
10.30. The track led up the steep hill behind 
Ryan's house. It was rough going, but nothing 
in daylight, and the air that morning made 
one feel glad to be alive. After a steady rise 
of about two miles we came on to a great wild 
plateau with hardly a tree to be seen, and I 
had my first experience of the great barrens of 
Newfoundland. The colouring was exquisite, 
and though desolate in the extreme the scenery 
had a great charm of its own, chiefly due to 
effects of light and shade. 

Deep shadows thrown by the fleecy clouds 

overhead fell on ridges far away and gave an 

idea of immensity and distance without which 

the view might have been monotonous. The 

air was extraordinarily clear: a ridge which 

looked a couple of miles away was pointed out 

to me as six-mile ridge, the head of the divide, 

from which the ground sloped away to our 

destination, Hungry Grove Pond. It took us 

189 



190 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

till 3 o'clock to reach the top of the ridge, 
which at first sight looked so near. The rise 
tlie whole way was very gradual, in fact hardly 
perceptible. The whole country was undulat- 
ing, low ridges alternating with little valleys, 
and in each bottom was a small pond from 
which issued a noisy stream. Dwarf balsam 
was scattered in patches. A bright yellow 
grass showed where the marshes, locally called 
" mishes," which we had to cross, lay, and 
though there had been a spell of dry weather, 
very wet and boggy some of these " mishes " 
were. 

When we reached the six- mile ridge we caught 
our first glimpse of the top of Mount Sylvester, 
just showing a pale blue on the sky-line, while 
far down below in a valley lay Hungry Grove 
Pond. 

I calculated we had come eight miles, for 
the six- mile ridge had been measured from the 
old Telegraph Office instead of the new. 

Dark clouds were now coming up from the 
coast, and it looked as if we were in for a bad 
night. I asked Steve if he were certain he had 
brought the pack with my blankets and water- 
proof sheet. On examining the packs we found 
that this, the most important to me at least, 
had been left behind. Here was a pleasant 
position. Heavy rain coming up with a cold 



TO THE HUNTING GROUNDS 191 

driving wind and no bedding for the night. 
But Steve was equal to the occasion and showed 
me what a first-rate man he was. Our camp 
was three miles ahead, Ryan's house eight 
miles behind, and it was 3 o'clock in the 
afternoon. Steve quietly said, " My fault, 
I go back and fetch up the pack." None of 
the others offered to go in his place, so laying 
down his own pack, for which I was to send 
back from camp, away went Steve at a trot. 

We pushed on to camp, which John had 
pitched in a small droke, and just as we got in, 
down came the rain in torrents. 

Getting a tent pitched in heavy rain is poor 
fun, but camp was soon comfortable and a 
roaring fire going. I had shot three grouse 
with my little rook rifle on the march, out of 
season I may say, but when it is a question of 
food I fear game laws are apt to be disregarded 
in the wilds. I soon had a good stew of grouse, 
potatoes and onions cooking, which was pro- 
nounced excellent later on. John was shy of 
showing his own abilities as a chef and sat 
humbly at my feet as a learner. After dinner 
we were talking of poor Steve's bad luck and 
how wet and uncomfortable he must be, and 
discussing when we should send one of the men 
back with a lantern to meet him. It was then 
quite dark, about 7.30 p.m., when Steve walked 



192 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

quietly into the camp with his pack and simply 
remarked : " Don't think I made bad time." 
I should think not. He had covered nineteen 
miles, eleven of them carrying a pack, in four 
and a half hours — a fine performance. He well 
deserved the tot of rum which I served out to 
him. I heard afterwards that in June he had 
left Ryan's house at 4 a.m. with a light pack 
and arrived at Conne River, his home, a dis- 
tance of forty-eight miles, at 8 o'clock the 
same evening. 

I had gathered from Millais' book that Steve 
was rather addicted to rum, which was con- 
firmed by a letter from him to Mr. Blair, saying, 
" Don't forget some rum, for you know how 
fond I am of it." I rather chaffed him about 
this letter and he assured me that it was a 
mistake — he could not write himself and some 
girl in his settlement had written for him and 
put the passage in without his knowledge. I 
can only say that I had no difficulty with Steve 
or any of the others over the question of liquor. 
I kept the whisky and rum locked up in a box, 
but I think I might have left it open. I had 
only six bottles of whisky and three of rum, 
and on opening the box one of the latter was 
found broken. I spread this amount over our 
entire trip till I got back to St. John's. John 
told me he did not care for rum. Joe acknow- 



TO THE HUNTING GROUNDS 193 

ledged he liked it, but Steve more than once 
refused a tot, even after a hard day. 

It was a cold camp that night, the ground 
was saturated, the balsam bedding dripping, 
and the cold and damp struck up through the 
thick waterproof sheet and two blankets. 

The following morning was perfect, a bright 
sun shining and a cold nip in the air. 

John had packed two loads down to the Pond 
the previous day, so we started together carry- 
ing four loads. Track down to the Pond there 
was none, and the ground after last night's 
rain was soaking. The swamps were full of 
water and the going very hard, but we had 
only three miles to cover. On the way I 
stalked a lot of geese, but only got a shot with 
the rook rifle at about 150 yards and the bullet 
fell short. Once at the lake all troubles were 
over and I had to look forward to a comfortable 
trip in the two Peterborough canoes lying 
ready. Micky John was sent home. We had 
seen a doe caribou on the way and he an- 
nounced his intention of having a try for 
venison. Joe was sent back to Ryan's for the 
last light load, and Steve and John to bring up 
the two remaining loads from last night's camp. 
I pitched my tent and made things generally 
shipshape till the men came back. The camp 
was an ideal one, situated on a wooded spit of 



194 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

land which separated the main pond from the 
smaller arm. The ground was sandy and dry, 
firewood abundant, and a brilliant sun was 
shining over the glassy lake, the shores of 
which were densely wooded. Packing was 
done with for the time, two canoes, which 
enabled us to travel in comfort, were lying 
pulled up on the sandy beach, and the caribou 
grounds were a couple of days ahead. What 
more could a hunter's heart desire. No more 
letters would be received, no news from the 
outside world for at least a month, only the 
joy of solitude in communion with nature, a 
joy which once experienced can never be for- 
gotten. In the rush and turmoil of life which 
was to come, when my holiday was over, I 
could at least have the memories of the happy 
time now before me to look back on. 

The men all turned up in good time in the 
afternoon, so I tried the lake and got three 
trout about half-a-pound each on the minnow. 
After an excellent dinner we were soon sleeping 
the sleep of the just, with roaring fires in front 
of my tent and the men's fly. 



HUNGRY GROVE POND TO 
SANDY POND 



O 2 



4Ai- 




JOHN DENNY AND STEVE BERNARD 




A NEWPOtTNDLAM- iu-.U 



[To face page 197. 



CHAPTER IV 

HUNGRY GROVE POND TO SANDY POND 

The morning of the 31st was bright and cold, 
though rain had fallen in the night, and we got 
away about 9 o'clock. One hour's steady 
paddling and rowing, for the larger canoe had 
oars, took us to the north end of Hungry Grove 
Pond, about three miles I should say, from 
which issued a brook communicating with Red 
Hill Pond. The water was very low and the 
men spent most of their time in the water 
dragging the canoes over the rocky shallows. 
I strolled along the bank and saw many old 
tracks of caribou, but nothing fresh. We had 
one portage of about half-a-mile, to pass some 
bad rapids. The brook was about two miles 
long and owing to the bad water and portage 
it took us some two hours to get down to Red 
Hill Pond. We named the brook the Two 
Mile Brook. Millais had shown a communi- 
cation between Hungry Grove Pond and Red 
Hill Pond in his map of the district, but never 
having travelled over the line we were taking 

he could not show details. 

197 



198 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

Red Hill Pond takes its name from a rocky 
reddish bluff, which rises a couple of hundred 
feet on the east side of the pond. The country 
is said to be a good one for bear, but we did 
not even see fresh tracks. 

The pond is only about a mile long, and we 
got to the end about lunch-time. 

I had brought rod rings with me, and had 
rigged up a rough trolling rod at our first camp, 
to which I lashed a spare reel. I made it a 
rule to have this primitive rod and my twelve- 
foot trout rod trolling over every lake and pond 
we crossed. I generally put a Devon minnow 
on one rod, and a blue phantom on the other. 
I used the fly exclusively when we came to 
any streams. I got one trout, a lively fish of 
Ij lib., in crossing Red Hill Pond and two in 
Hungry Grove Pond. There was a rapid and 
a nice pool at the north end of the pond where 
we halted for lunch, and putting on a small 
silver doctor in a few minutes I had six nice 
trout, some of 1| lb., ready for lunch. John 
Denny said they were all onannaniche or land- 
locked salmon. I had never seen them before ; 
they were just like sea trout, and played in 
the same way, jumping out of the water even 
more frequently than sea trout. They were 
strong, game fish, and better still, excellent 
eating. Here I got my first mud trout, which 



HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 199 

I take to be char. They were more flabby 
and not in such good condition as the onan- 
naniche ; their flesh was a bright red, and they 
were good eating. 

From Red Hill Pond, after a portage over 
the short rapid where I had fished, we entered 
a long weedy pond where fishing was im- 
possible; then came shallow streams with just 
a perceptible current and three more large 
ponds, till we reached our camping ground at 
4.30 at the head of a rough brook, over which 
we had to portage next day. I calculated we 
had come about fourteen miles. The steadies 
required careful navigation, for there were 
masses of sharp rocks, some just submerged, 
others showing well above the water. The 
bow paddler had to keep a sharp look-out, for 
very little will knock a hole in a Peterborough 
canoe. We were now getting rather anxious 
for meat, for it is simply impossible to carry 
tinned provisions in sufficient quantity to 
satisfy the appetites of four hungry men. 

The wind had been north-east all day, and 
fell to a dead calm as Steve and I quietly 
paddled out, skirting the lake shore, with the 
hope of seeing game. We went about a mile 
and landed on a sandy beach where there were 
one or two fresh tracks, and then on about half- 
a-mile inland to a rocky knoll from which we 



200 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

could spy the surrounding country, which was 
mostly marsh with patches of dense wood 
scattered all over the plain and becoming 
thicker down by the lake's edge. 

At this season of the year all the stags spend 
their days in the woods, and only come out 
morning and evening to feed. There was not 
a breath of air and the mosquitoes and black 
fly were out in force ; towards sunset we saw 
a small stag with a poor head come out of a 
wood about a mile away, and feed down to- 
wards us. We had visions of caribou steak 
and liver and bacon before us, when suddenly 
the wind veered right round ; at the same time 
a fox on the shore of the lake, who had seen us, 
kept barking persistently. Whether it was 
the wind or the fox I can't say, but the stag 
put up his head, turned right round and walked 
straight away — alas, the hopes of meat were 
gone. It was getting dusk, so we made for the 
canoe. On the way we saw a very small doe, 
but the wind was again wrong and she was off 
in a moment. We got back to camp in the 
dark. 

Steve swore we must have meat and asked 
for my Rigby Mauser that he might go out 
at daybreak and shoot anything eatable. I 
offered him the little rook rifle, so it was 
decided he would be out before davbreak for 



HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 201 

meat. I was only hunting heads, but all the 
Indians had strong opinions on the subject of 
meat. 

On September 1st Steve was out at day- 
break with the small rifle and came back about 
seven o'clock triumphant, having shot a young 
stag in good condition. He had crawled within 
about fifty yards and killed the beast with one 
shot. I was simply astonished, for I never could 
have believed that the little rifle, one of Rigby's 
rook rifles, could have killed an animal bigger 
than an ordinary red deer. Steve had brought 
in the liver and kidneys and left the meat to be 
picked up on our march, for fortunately it was 
close to a pond we had to pass through. How 
we all revelled in a good breakfast of kidneys 
and liver and bacon. Every one was in good 
humour, for we now had ample meat. 

The brook was about three-quarters of a mile 
long and everything had to be portaged. 

It looked ideal fishing water, and while the 
men were portaging I fished every pool. I got 
two onannaniche and two mud trout above the 
first pool, and then never a rise, though the 
pools looked perfect. 

Where the brook fell into the next lake 
looked the best water, but I could move nothing. 
Why, I could not understand, unless it was that 
the season was late for these waters. 



202 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

When the portage was over Steve and John 
went across the pond for the meat, and Joe and 
I pushed on in the big canoe about a mile across 
the pond to another rapid, fortunately only 
about thirty yards long, where we again had to 
portage. The day had turned bitterly cold and 
heavy rain clouds were coming up. I had got 
very warm walking and fishing along the brook, 
and though I put on a thick jersey the wind 
seemed to cut like a knife and I got a bad cold 
which gave me some trouble for days after. 
Poor old Joe had spent most of the day up to his 
waist in water getting the empty canoes down 
the creek and was looking very miserable. 
The men wore nothing but their cotton shirts 
and coats, cotton trousers and moccasins — 
they were never dry, but never seemed to catch 
cold. 

It was just the occasion for a tot of rum. 
Whether it went to Joe's head or not I cannot 
say — he certainly became extra cheerful, and 
when the other men returned and all the men 
were carrying the loads across the rapid, Joe 
tumbled twice right into the water and got a 
thorough ducking. I only made a gesture of 
taking a tot, when I thought these simple folk 
would never stop laughing. It was a joke 
which lasted them the rest of the trip, and in 
Indian circles no doubt I have the reputation 



HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 203 

of being a great wit. Joe laughed if possible 
more heartily than the others, and though 
soaked to the skin was quite happy for the rest 
of the day. 

Just as we were loading up the canoes John 
pointed to the sky-line about half-a-mile away 
and quietly said, " That good stag, I think." 
Sure enough there was a heavy beast, the first 
big stag I had seen, quietly feeding along the 
crest of the ridge. The wind was right, so we 
decided to cross the pond, land, and have a 
closer look at him. His head looked massive, 
but I could not make out the points. 

I certainl}^ never had an easier stalk, as the 
ground was perfect for stalking, and this holds 
good all over the island. We walked quietly 
up in perfect shelter to within about 150 
yards of where we had last seen the stag, and 
presently saw the tops of his horns sticking 
up from behind a low bush. Leaving Steve 
behind, I crawled up to within about seventy 
yards and got my telescope on to count the 
points. The horns were in velvet, but just 
stripping — and as the frontal tines were inter- 
locked it was difficult to count the exact 
number. Beckoning Steve up we spent some 
time counting the points, for the poor beast 
was lying sound asleep with his head nodding. 
Steve could make out thirty points, but said 



204 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

we would get many better heads. We had 
almost determined to leave him, when I thought 
after all here was a certainty, so resting my 
rifle in the branch of a tree in front of me, I 
shot him through the neck. It was rather 
murder, for no skill either in the stalk or shot 
was necessary. However, he knew nothing, 
but rolled over stone dead. When we got up 
to him we could only make out twenty-nine 
points, but the head was quite a pretty one. 
The body was very big, but not in good 
condition. 

Calling up the men, we soon had the head and 
meat down to the canoes and boiled the kettle 
before starting on. We now had enough meat 
for some days, though it is astonishing what a 
quantity of meat an Indian can get through; 
so we could afford to look for that extra good 
head — which as it happened we never came 
across. 

We went on through some shallow and very 
rocky steadies, and after about a mile came to 
the last portage into Sandy Pond or Jubilee 
Lake. We had to carry the canoes over this 
and were soon crossing to the north shore of 
Sandy Pond, where we were to make our per- 
manent camp. There was a fine following 
wind which helped us along, and by sunset we 
had covered the four miles of lake and arrived 



HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 205 

at one of Steve's trapping camps, which was to 
be our headquarters. 

Sandy Pond is a lovely sheet of water studded 
with innumerable islands, some densely wooded, 
some quite bare. In the early mornings and 
evenings in fair weather the view was exquisite, 
and I was never tired of the changing effects on 
the lake. One day there would not be a ripple, 
another day would come a gale and driving 
rain, and such a sea that the canoes could not 
be launched, but as a rule for three weeks we 
had perfect weather. 

In crossing Sandy Pond I caught four nice 
trout, the two largest about Ij lb. each, so the 
day's bag was two deer and eight trout. The 
licence only allows the shooting of three stags, 
but to shoot meat for food is, I think, an un- 
written law of the island, and I feel sure the 
authorities themselves would not insist on a 
too strict application of the licence. It is 
simply impossible to carry enough tinned meat 
to keep four men going, and with meat at 
the door when it is urgently needed it is not 
human nature to resist the temptation. On 
the entire trip we shot only what was absolutely 
necessary for food, but with no meat in camp I 
used to send Steve out with the small rifle to 
shoot a barren doe for the pot, and not a pound 
of meat was wasted. 



206 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

Our camp was pitched in a dense wood, for 
after the great forests of Vancouver the New- 
foundland timber looks insignificant and only 
worthy of the name of wood. A good clearing 
had already been made by Steve on his trapping 
expeditions, and poles for pitching the fly were 
lying ready. We soon had a most comfortable 
camp pitched, and with plenty of food and a 
tot of rum to mark the occasion of arriving 
in our permanent camp, we passed a happy 
evening, smoking our pipes in front of a glorious 
camp fire and discussing the plans and the 
prospects for the future. 

We decided to make this our main camp, 
leaving here most of our stores, and to make 
flying trips, at first west into the thickly wooded 
country where the stags were most likely to be 
found at this time of year, and later north-east 
up to the barrens and Shoe Hill Ridge. 

This was Steve's advice and I naturally 
decided to follow it. I had originally thought 
of working north by Mount Sylvester, striking 
the higher waters of the Terra Nova River and 
so down to the railway at Terra Nova, which 
would have been a shorter way back to St. 
John's; but Steve told me that last season he 
had been with a party of Americans who came 
in from Terra Nova, and that the country had 
been shot out, as they never saw a decent stag 



HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 207 

till they came on to the barrens near Shoe Hill 
Ridge, where they could only stay for two days, 
during which they secured two good stags. 

The morning of September 2nd was exquisite, 
all the clouds of yesterday had cleared away and 
a bright sun was shining in a cloudless sky. I 
had passed rather a bad night coughing, owing 
to the chill caught the day before, but in the 
climate of Newfoundland one never felt ill. 

After an early breakfast we started off in 
the big canoe to explore the shores of the lake 
and look for signs. Stags we could not expect 
to see, for they were bound to be in the woods, 
and the whole of the northern shore of Sandy 
Pond is densely wooded. About a mile west 
of the camp was the brook connecting Sandy 
Pond with the large lake of Kaegudeck to the 
north. Here, I thought, must be the ideal spot 
for trout, but though I fished for an hour I 
never got a rise. The brook is only about ten 
yards wide and quite unnavigable for canoes. 

We found plenty of fresh marks of deer on 
the sandy beaches of the lake, but saw nothing. 

Returning to camp we pottered around 
getting the camp shipshape — including the 
making of my patent bed, which was a tre- 
mendous success. Poles for hanging clothes, 
rests for rifles and fishing-rods, shelves in my 
tent, and even tables were run up by the men, 



208 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

and the camp was soon all that could be 
desired in the way of comfort. 

About 4 o'clock we took the canoe and 
went east about a mile, passing another brook 
quite as big as that running from Kaegudeck 
and which takes its rise in Shoe Hill Lake. 
Landing, we went up to a look-out hill about 
half-a-mile away, from which we had a splendid 
view of the country to the east. 

The ground, rugged and intersected with 
small watercourses, rose gradually to a ridge 
about three miles away, beyond which, Steve 
said, lay an open plain leading on to Shoe Hill 
Ridge. The hills looked about 400 feet high 
and from our look-out we could spy the entire 
face for some miles; to the south-east lay 
Square Box Hill crowning the ridge. There 
were many clumps of timber lining the sides of 
the watercourses and numerous small ponds 
lay in the hollows. 

It looked an ideal caribou country, over which 
later on in the season all the caribou from the 
south and west cross to gain the barrens. 

Many well-worn caribou tracks led upwards. 
It was a lovely evening. We could look over 
Sandy Pond with its wooded islands and its 
forest- clothed shores standing out dark against 
the setting sun and reflected in the placid 
waters of the lake. Just as the sun went down 



HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 209 

in a blaze of colour we saw five deer come out 
of different patches of wood, but only one was a 
stag, and the head being poor we left him, 
though to get a shot would have been a very 
easy stalk. 

In the short row home I picked up five trout, 
two being over a pound. I found that just 
half-an-hour before and half-an-hour after sun- 
set was the best time for trolling, and I could 
always pick up enough fish for the camp coming 
home in the canoe after a day's stalking. 

Next morning, September 3rd, we were up 
for an early breakfast and got away at 7 a.m. 
Here I first used the rucksack, which was most 
convenient, as in it we carried our midday meal, 
an oilskin, if it looked like rain, and a kettle 
for tea. The lake was dead calm and the 
morning mists were clearing away as we started. 
Our plan was to work up to the top of the ridge 
we had seen the evening before, hunt the face 
of the hill and see if there were any signs of 
stags on the barrens. 

Unfortunately our chances of deer on the 
way up were spoiled by a south-west wind which 
got up about eight o'clock, and blew steadily 
from behind us the whole way up. We saw 
four does on one of the islands in the lake, but 
the whole face of the ridge was devoid of 
stags. 



210 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

It was only about three miles to the crest of 
the ridge, and the country being dry the going 
was good. There were many small swamps and 
ponds along the side of the hill with small 
drokes in the hollows, altogether ideal ground 
for stags. There were not many fresh tracks, 
though the deep ruts cut by the hoofs of in- 
numerable herds of deer showed what numbers 
must pass later on in the season. 

On reaching the top of the ridge we looked 
over a vast undulating tract of country, the 
true barrens. There were only three drokes 
in sight. One about four miles away, which 
Steve pointed out to me as Shoe Hill Droke, 
where Millais camped and from which he got 
such fine heads in October ; nearer still another 
droke where Captain Legge had camped two 
years before and from which he got a forty- 
pointer; in fact, I was looking over historic 
ground from a sporting point of view, and there 
seemed no reasons why I should not be as 
successful as those who had gone before me. 

There were neither stags nor does in sight, 
and no fresh tracks. Steve said they would 
not move up to the barrens before the 15th 
or 20th of September. It made me bitterly 
regret I was so cramped for time, and that I 
had to be back to catch the Glencoe at Belleoram 
on September 26th. It is the greatest mistake 



HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 211 

being tied down to time on any hunting trip; 
a week extra might have made all the difference 
in my sport, but steamers did not fit in, and I 
was bound to be in New York to sail for home 
on October 8th. 

We had a splendid view of the entire country 
from the look-out hill on the top of the ridge. 
To the north lay Mount Sylvester about four 
hours' march away; to the north-west Lake 
Kaegudeck, buried in dense woods; behind 
Kaegudeck lay the hills over the Gander. To 
the east the view was bounded by Shoe Hill 
Ridge with its droke standing up against the 
clear sky. To the west was the country we 
had just come through sloping down to Sandy 
Pond, while far behind to the west lay Kepskaig 
Hill, which we were to visit later on. After 
spending some time spying the entire country, 
we boiled the kettle, had lunch and strolled 
leisurely down to the lake. Meanwhile the 
placid lake of the morning had changed and 
the south-west wind, now blowing half a gale, 
was rolling up big breakers on the shore. We 
had sent the canoe home in the morning and it 
was too rough for Joe to fetch us, so we went 
back to the look-out of the first evening and 
spied the whole country till dark. We saw 
two stags up on the sky-line near Square Box 
Hill, but it was too late to go after them ; one 

P 2 



212 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

looked a heavy beast. The wind went down 
with the setting sun and Joe was able to come 
across for us, but the lake was still too rough for 
fishing. 

On September 4th the glass had fallen badly, 
a gale was blowing and heavy rain clouds were 
coming up from the south-west. Notwith- 
standing the prospect of bad weather we 
decided to go up to Square Box Hill and have 
a look for the stag we had seen the previous 
evening. It was a five miles' walk, up hill the 
whole way, but the ascent was gradual. We 
had just reached the top of the ridge within 
about half-a-mile of the hill when the rain 
came down in sheets. Spying was impossible, 
so we took shelter in a droke, lit a good fire, 
boiled the kettle and had lunch. We waited 
till about two o'clock, but there was no sign of 
clearing, so we plodded back to camp, getting 
well soaked through. Just as we got to camp 
the rain cleared off, and after a change of cloth- 
ing we started to fish about five o'clock. We 
picked up five nice fish, all on the minnow — 
one about 2 lib. Just at dusk a doe came 
swimming out from one of the islands as if to 
have a look at us. Meat was not over abundant 
in camp, so I gave Steve permission to shoot her 
with the rook rifle. Steve rather prided him- 
self on being a good shot, but he was shooting 



HUNGRY GROVE TO SANDY POND 213 

from a wobbly canoe and missed clean with the 
first shot, but hit her with the second, and land- 
ing, killed her stone dead. By the time the doe 
was gralloched and in the canoe a heavy fog 
had come up and it was dark before we reached 
camp. 

On this trip I was introduced to two great 
delicacies. One roast doe's head, and the other 
roast breast-bone of stag. John was an adept 
at these dishes, and anything more delicious and 
tender I have never tasted. The head was 
only skinned, put in the baker and roasted 
whole for about six hours, the great advantage 
of the baker being that the heat can be regu- 
lated by the distance it is kept from the fire. 

In the evening we had a long discussion as 
to what we had better do. There were no stags 
to speak of in the country we were in. So a 
move was necessary, and Steve decided we 
would take all the outfit to the west end of 
Sandy Pond, there make our main camp, and 
with a small camp work down to Kepskaig, 
all through a wooded country where he main- 
tained the stags were now to be found. So we 
decided to make a start the following morning. 

Our camp was simply infested with grey 
jays, generally known as robber-birds; there 
were at least a dozen who made the camp their 
home. No sooner was a bit of meat hung up in 



214 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

the open than they descended on it and began 
picking it to pieces. 

It was very interesting watching them, for 
they were so tame that Joe caught one with his 
hand. They appeared to be ravenous, and 
stuffed themselves with meat and then flew 
away, but Steve explained they only went a 
short distance to store the meat for the bad 
winter days to come, hiding it in crevices in 
the bark of the surrounding trees. They 
worked hard from morning to night and must 
have laid by a good store, for I left a good lump 
of venison hanging in the open for their special 
benefit, the rest of the meat being protected 
from the flies and the jays by my mosquito 
net, which I had turned into a meat safe. 



TO KOSKACODDE 




STEVE SPYING. SANDY POND 




CAMP, WEST KND SANDY POND 



[To face page 217. 



CHAPTER V 

TO KOSKACODDE 

September 5th was a lovely morning, not 
a breath of wind and a cloudless sky, so differ- 
ent from yesterday. Getting away at 9.30 we 
made a good four miles an hour, reaching our 
camping ground at the west end of the lake at 
11.30. Steve, Joe and I were in the big canoe 
and John, a fine boatman, in the small canoe 
which skirted the shores of the lake. We 
disturbed a small stag which was feeding along 
the shore and which at once disappeared in 
the woods. The camp was simply perfect, 
fairly open yet with sufficient shelter from the 
surrounding woods. Behind it rose a hill about 
100 feet high, a fine look-out over the entire 
country. The tents were pitched on a spur of 
land just where the Baie du Nord River, or 
rather its head- waters, left the lake in a tumbling 
torrent with intervening deep pools, an ideal 
salmon river to look at, but unfortunately no 
salmon can pass Smoky Falls, many miles away 
to the south of Lake Meddonagonax. 

I had caught two trout crossing the lake, 

217 



218 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

but could not resist the first really good fly- 
fishing water I had come to, so a few minutes 
after arrival I was on the bank of the river 
fishing an ideal pool. There was about a 
quarter of a mile of fishing water, after which 
was a small lake and then more rapids below. 
In an hour I had landed twelve trout and char, 
weighing lOj fb. The trout were all onan- 
naniche and played like sea trout — more often 
out of the water than in. The largest was 
2j lb., and the two largest char weighed 
2 1 lb. In the heavy rapid water they gave 
grand sport. What an ideal camp it was ! 
The best of fishing at the door of the tent, a 
glorious view over the lake, with its many 
wood-clad islands to the south, while across the 
lake the ground was open and sloped gradually 
upwards, and here Steve said he had more than 
once seen good stags. The whole ground could 
be spied from the rocky hill behind the camp, 
from which, too, we could look over all the wood- 
land marshes to north and west and could see 
the river winding away to distant Koskacodde, 
and in the further distance Kepskaig Hill and 
the country we were to hunt later on. 

After lunch, about 3 o'clock, Steve and 
I started for the look-outs. There were three 
in all, behind and to the north of our camp. 
We decided to go straight to the one farthest 



TO KOSKACODDE 219 

north, a mile away, and from which we could 
command all the open ground near the lake 
and the numerous glades and marshes lying 
around us. Our only chance was to see a stag 
coming out to feed about sunset. 

The country was undulating, and on the 
north side of the lake gradually rose to hills 
about 200 feet high. Dense woods clothed 
the ravines running up to the higher ground, 
while between the woods and the surrounding 
numerous small ponds were fairly open glades 
interspersed with marshes. The track worn 
by the feet of many caribou and cleared in 
parts by Steve, who trapped this country in 
the winter, was quite good going and we were 
on the top of our hill long before sunset. The 
view was a fine one ; as we looked right over the 
entire lake and away to the south we could see 
the river winding down through the woods to 
Lake Koskacodde, only about four miles away 
as the crow flies. Koskacodde is the Indian 
for the Mackle bird, or Little Gull Pond. 

On our way up we saw the first sign of a stag 
cleaning his antlers, and the fresh rubbing 
showed that he had been on the ground quite 
recently. 

Having spied the entire country on both 
sides and nothing being in sight, we decided to 
return to camp. About half-a-mile from camp 



220 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

we suddenly saw a big stag come out of the 
woods and feed along a ridge just above the 
shores of the lake. He was not more than 
400 yards away and was walking rapidly as 
he fed up wind and towards the camp. Waiting 
until he had crossed the ridge and was out of 
sight, we pushed on across a small dip between 
us and the ridge, and so to the top of the ridge 
where he had disappeared. It could hardly 
be dignified by the name of a stalk, for on look- 
ing over there he was standing about a hundred 
yards away, feeding quietly. On the side to- 
wards me the frontals and middles were good, 
the tops poor, but stags were scarce, and 
hoping for the best I dropped him with one 
shot. It was the usual story, the two sides 
were not alike and the horn next me was the 
best one. This is one of the great difficulties 
of judging heads; on one side may be a fine 
frontal of seven or eight points concealing the 
other frontal, which may be a single spike. 
He was a very heavy stag, in good condition 
and quite clean, but I should say the head was 
going back. In one respect it was remarkable 
— there were three distinct horns, the third 
with two points growing out of the orbital 
ridge and completely separated from the horn 
on the same side. Steve said he had never seen 
one like it. 



TO KOSKACODDE 221 

The next morning I sent Steve out early to 
spy the country. He came back having seen 
only one very small stag and three does. Joe 
was dispatched to cut up yesterday's stag, 
and bring in the head and meat, while I 
decided to fish the river down and go out 
again in the evening on the chance of another 
stag. 

Taking Steve with me, I fished down for about 
two miles. There was some lovely water, but 
all the fish were lying in the pools and none in 
the streams. 

In the lowest pool I reached I got a fine fish 
of 3 ib. and five other good ones. By lunch 
I had twenty-one trout and five char, weighing 
19 Ife. ; a number of small ones I had put back. 
The trout were all onannaniche and as game a 
fish for its size as I ever want to catch ; in the 
heavy water they gave grand sport. Coming 
back to camp we saw two old geese and a fine 
lot of young ones feeding in a marsh across a 
small lake. Seeing us they kept cackling and 
moving higher up into the reeds. We both 
went back to camp to fetch the rook rifle, so 
making a great mistake, for had one of us 
remained where we were we certainly would 
have got a shot, for they would not have left 
the marsh so long as some one was in sight, 
guarding the narrow mouth of the river by 



222 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

which they were bound to pass. When we 
got back with the rifle they had disappeared. 

In the afternoon we went out to the second 
look-out, and waited till sunset. It was a 
wonderful evening, not a breath of wind, and 
the mosquitoes and flies were out in force even 
on the top of our little hill. In a small pond 
below us half-a-dozen black duck were 
swimming about through the reeds, while 
the hundreds of rings on the water showed 
that the pond was well stocked with trout, 
but Steve said they were all very small and not 
worth catching; the pond must have been 
simply alive with them judging from the 
number of rises. 

Presently we saw a barren doe come out of 
the woods and feed towards where we had shot 
yesterday's stag. The sound of chopping wood 
in camp was quite distinct in the still air, and 
whether it was hearing this or whether she had 
winded where the dead stag had lain, she 
turned back and swam straight out into the 
lake for about 300 yards, then turned north 
and swam at least a mile to a jutting out 
wooded point where she landed, shook herself 
like a dog and disappeared in the woods. She 
swam very high in the water with her scut 
straight up. It was a pretty sight, as I could 
watch her all the way with my glasses. 



TO KOSKACODDE 223 

I was not very satisfied with the system of 
hunting we were obHged to follow. Sitting 
waiting on the top of a look-out on the chance 
of something turning up did not appeal to me, 
but Steve assured me it was much too early 
to go up to the barrens and that our only chance 
was in the woods, and I have no doubt he was 
right. The stags do not move up to the high 
ground much before September 20th, though 
I believe the Shoe Hill country and right away 
east holds stags permanently, but the big 
stags who have summered in the woods do not 
begin to move much before the 20th. The 
season closing on October 1st, there is not much 
time for good stags. The close time is from 
October 1st to 20th, when shooting is again 
allowed. I have a shrewd suspicion that men 
who go in about October 5th, to be in time for 
the second season, are not very particular about 
dates. I feel I should be sadly tempted myself 
were I to see a forty-five pointer, say October 
16th. But when the rutting season is on, 
between October 1st and 20th, the stags are 
easily approachable and the sport cannot be 
good. 

We discussed our plans at length — there were 
not many big stags about, and though the camp 
was an ideal one I decided, on Steve's recom- 
mendation, to move down south to Lake Kos- 



224 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

kacodde and Kepskaig, where, though the 
country was fairly wooded, Steve said we 
should have a chance of a good stag. 

On September 7th the weather looked like 
breaking. Steve was out at daybreak and spied 
two stags down the river where we proposed to 
go. We decided to leave Joe in camp and take 
a light camp and provisions for a week in the 
big canoe and explore the country to the south. 
Joe was rather sad at being left behind, but 
though he had a good tent, lots of meat and 
provisions, the enforced solitude did not appeal 
to him. 

While Steve and John were packing the canoe 

1 went down to the river and soon had ten trout 
and char, Sj lb., the two biggest being over 

2 lb. each. The canoe was let down the rapids 
with a rope, the kit being portaged to the 
bottom of the rapids, only about 400 yards, 
where the river fell into a small lake or Podopsk, 
a generic term for all the small ponds in the 
course of a river. After crossing this we had 
a navigable stream with occasional rapids, all 
of which we were able to negotiate without 
unloading. Having started at 9 a.m. we 
reached a rapid at the entrance to Koskacodde 
about 1.15. Here we had to portage about 
fifty yards. I slipped on the rocks and took 
an involuntary bath, which was rather annoying. 










THE THREE-HORNED STAG 




■ BAD WATER 



[To face page 226. 



TO KOSKACODDE 225 

However, a change of clothes was at hand and 
I was none the worse for my dip. Just as we 
got into the new lake I saw a deer make off on 
the far side, having seen us. I could not make 
out whether it was a stag or a hind, as I only 
saw its rump disappearing in the trees. At the 
same moment John saw a stag feeding quietly 
away on our side of the lake. We soon got 
close enough to see that the head was a poor 
one. I tried to take a snapshot with the 
camera, but when I got within fifty yards he 
saw me and was off. He was a fine big-bodied 
beast, and may have been one of the stags Steve 
had seen in the morning. We pushed on about 
one mile, and camped on a promontory stretch- 
ing out into the lake. There was a nice sandy 
shelving beach and a perfect camping ground 
all ready, as it had been cleared by some other 
party the previous year, and only the under- 
growth had to be cut away. 

In the afternoon, taking the canoe, we 
paddled quietly along the shore, and after about 
two miles landed on a sandy beach to look for 
signs. A fringe of wood clothed the south 
shore of the lake, beyond which was a fairly 
open country. There were plenty of signs, and 
we were strolling quietly along the beach when 
Steve seized me by the arm and whispered, 
" Deer coming through wood." I confess I 



226 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

could hear nothing, but Steve's hearing was 
marvellously acute. Sitting down on a big 
rock, I got the rifle ready and laid it across my 
knees. Presently I heard a crackling and 
breaking of branches quite close by, when a 
noble-looking stag walked out into the open 
and without looking round or ahead crossed 
the sandy beach down to the edge of the lake 
not thirty yards away. We were both in full 
view, but alas, though his body looked enormous 
his head was a very poor one, not more than 
twenty points. He never saw me but bent his 
head, had a long drink, then looked round for a 
couple of minutes and walked quietly back into 
the wood. What would I not have given for 
my camera ! — a more perfect picture could not 
be imagined. Though a gentle breeze was 
blowing, fortunately in the right direction, there 
was not a ripple on the waters of the sandy bay, 
which was sheltered by the wood, and as he 
stood with his head up and every line of his 
body reflected in the water below, it was a 
noble sight, such as one could but rarely hope 
to see. 

Allowing some ten minutes to elapse we 
followed him through the wood, more out of 
curiosity than anything else. Coming out on 
to an open grassy plain, there he was feeding 
quietly about 200 yards away. Looking 




STEVE JOE DRIES HIMSELF. 




■/'„ „,.: i„.,„: 226. 



STEVE BERNARD IN CAMP. 



TO KOSKACODDE 227 

round to my left I suddenly saw a second 
stag not 150 yards away. The horns of the 
first stag were clean. The second stag Iiad 
a better head, but the velvet was peeling off 
and the frontal tines, and indeed most of the 
horn, were crimson with blood. It was difficult 
to determine the points, owing to the bits of 
velvet hanging all about, but getting the glass 
on to him I saw that though the frontals were 
good the rest of the head was very indifferent, 
so he had too to be passed. 

We whistled to move the second stag but he 
took not the slightest notice of us, and it was 
not until we gave him, and incidentally the 
first stag, our wind that they both went away 
over the plain at a slinging trot. 

Coming home in the gloaming we saw another 
stag come out of the wood and walk along the 
shore. We got within fifty yards of him, but 
the head was, if possible, inferior to the 
other two. This was bad luck ! We had seen 
four stags in one day and not one worth 
shooting. 

September 8th. We got away at 6 a.m., 
crossed the lake in the canoe and made for the 
top of a small hill about a mile away. The 
country was undulating. Numerous ponds lay 
in the hollows. Clumps of wood (drokes), in 
which the stags rested during the day, were 

Q 2 



228 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

scattered over the plain; altogether a likely 
looking ground. We soon saw a big stag about 
two miles away feeding across a swamp. The 
head looked a good one but it was impossible 
to make out the points at such a distance, so 
we decided to get nearer. As we moved on we 
saw another stag coming out of a hollow on 
our left, but the head was a poor one. Within 
four minutes we saw a third stag on our right, 
but the glass soon showed that he too was not 
of the right sort. All these were big- bodied 
animals, but carrying poor heads. Following 
on after the first stag, we saw him enter a small 
wood. As soon as we got close outside the 
wood I decided to send Steve round and give 
the stag his wind. I took a position command- 
ing both sides of the wood, on one of which, if 
Steve's drive were successful, the stag must 
come out. After about half-an-hour's wait a 
crash in the wood just in front of me told me 
that our plan had succeeded, and out burst a 
fine stag and stood looking back into the wood 
and within twenty yards of me. Alas, his 
horns were in velvet, and although the tops 
were good he had only one indifferent frontal 
and a spike for the other. So he too had to go 
unharmed. Again I reproached myself for 
not having brought the camera. I had missed 
yesterday and to-day two chances of snap- 



TO KOSKACODDE 229 

shots such as seldom occur. On getting back 
to camp John reported having seen a small 
stag crossing the end of the lake, so at least 
there were plenty of caribou in the country, 
though unfortunately no big heads. 

In the afternoon the light breeze dropped 
to a dead calm, so starting at 2.30 we made for 
the far west end of the lake, about five miles 
away, where a long steady ran up for about 
three miles, and which Steve said was a good 
country for deer. Landing a few hundred 
yards up the steady, we made for the top of a 
ridge about a hundred feet high, up which led 
one of the deepest deer tracks I had yet seen. 
It was at least two feet deep, cut right into the 
side of the hill, and there were fresh signs 
everywhere. Unfortunately it was one of 
those dead calm evenings when the stags come 
out very late, and as we were a good way from 
camp we could only wait till just after sunset, 
and saw nothing. On our way home just at 
the mouth of the steady we saw a barren hind 
standing in the water. As we wanted meat I 
sent Steve ashore with the rook rifle to get her, 
which he did after bungling one or two shots. 
As we were getting the carcass into the canoe, 
out came another hind, and just behind her a 
small stag, on the point we had just left, but 
the head was no good. We got to camp well 



230 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

after dark, but it was a lovely, calm night 
without a ripple on the lake. 

September 9th. We were up at daybreak 
and across the lake to spy the ground where 
we had seen the three stags yesterday. Nothing 
was in sight, but we saw for a moment one 
stag behind our camp on the high open ground ; 
he was just disappearing into a small droke, so 
we could not make out the head. However, 
we went after him, but when we had crossed the 
pond and got up to where he had disappeared, 
there was nothing in sight, so we decided to 
get back to camp and move on if possible. 
Just as we reached the camp, looking back for 
a moment I saw him on the sky-line about a 
quarter of a mile away, but, getting the glass 
on, I found the head was no good. As we were 
making for camp we saw another stag on the 
shore where we had landed in the morning, 
but he was like all the rest, unshootable. He 
both got our wind and saw us and went off at a 
real gallop instead of the ordinary long slinging 
trot. 

We certainly had seen plenty of stags, but 
as luck would have it not one good head. All 
the country round Koskacodde was very good 
for deer. We had been extraordinarily lucky 
so far in our weather, the " mishes " were all 
dry but rather fatiguing going, just like walking 



TO KOSKACODDE 231 

over a thick bed of dry sponges. The fine 
weather could not be expected to last for ever, 
and the chances were that when we most 
wanted it, on the Shoe Hill Ridge, it would 
break. 



SPORT ON KEPSKAIG 



CHAPTER VI 

SPORT ON KEPSKAIG 

Though the wind was almost blowing a gale 
against us we decided to start, and crept along 
under the shelter of the shore. Heavy seas 
were breaking over the numerous sunken rocks 
and we shipped a good deal of water. I was 
not sorry to reach a point about three miles 
off, where the lake turned round to the north 
and where we had a following wind, and though 
the waves were still high they were behind 
us, and we soon reached a short rapid leading 
into Kepskaig Lake. We had covered the 
distance from our last camp in three and a half 
hours. 

Unloading the canoe, we got her over the 
rapid and camped immediately below. In 
front of the camp, at the bottom of the short 
rapid, was a nice pool, and while the men were 
pitching camp and cooking dinner I fished the 
pool, and in one and a half hours I got twenty- 
one trout and char ; the biggest about 1|- lb. 

Although the gale was a strong one the rain 

had so far kept off, but the clouds were now 

235 



236 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

piling up for heavy rain, and the glass was 
falling rapidly. We were lucky to have got 
across, for the wind was now too high to have 
attempted the lake. We were in a good, dry 
camp, plenty of fish assured, and we could afford 
to ignore the weather. 

Kepskaig was a short and somewhat narrow 
lake, not more than one and a half miles long ; 
from it two steadies led out into Meddonagonax 
Lake. The shores were thickly wooded, but 
at the far end were some fairly open marshes 
with two good look-out hills, from which we 
could spy the entire country. 

We started about 4.30 for the far end of the 
lake, but landed half-way to spy the shores for 
any feeding stag that might come out. We 
soon saw a stag with a good-looking head 
feeding on the shore opposite to us, and were 
just about to start after him when Steve saw 
another stag feeding across one of the marshes 
at the far end of the lake. The tops of the 
horns looked very good, so we decided to go 
after him first. Pushing on in the canoe to 
the end of the lake, we were soon on the top of 
one of the small hills, and could see him feeding 
on towards us and moving very quickly. The 
glass showed that though he had good tops, 
both middles and frontals were very poor, so 
we decided to leave him and go back to the 



SPORT ON KEPSKAIG 237 

first stag. It was nearly dark when we got 
to the place we had last seen him, but 
fortunately he was there still feeding amongst 
some big boulders on the shore of the lake. A 
high wind was blowing and he was not more 
than eighty yards away, so hidden by the rocks 
and long grass I could not make out his frontals, 
but tops and middles were good, and waiting, 
what seemed an indefinite time, to get a broad- 
side shot, at last he began feeding away with 
his rump straight on to me. I could now 
hardly see the telescope sight, but fortunately 
he gave a half turn and as I fired I heard the 
bullet go home. He galloped madly right 
into the lake, and stood some 150 yards 
away among some big rocks from which I 
could hardly distinguish him. Taking the 
best sight I could I fired again and he 
dropped stone dead in the water. Getting 
him ashore, we found he was a nice thirty-four 
pointer, the best head we had yet seen, and as 
it happened the best head we saw the whole 
trip. He was in poor condition, having been 
badly wounded in the body at some time. 
Abscesses had formed round the wounds and 
Steve pronounced his flesh uneatable. It was 
too dark to do more than pull him out of the 
water and gralloch him, and we had a hard 
paddle back to camp in the dark. The rain 



238 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

was now falling heavily and a roaring fire and 
cosy camp were more than welcome. 

The following morning it was still raining, 
but more like a thick Scotch mist. We went 
over to fetch the head, and found that the first 
bullet had gone in just behind the ribs and 
raked him through lungs and heart, so the 
second shot was unnecessary. We saw a hind 
and calf swimming in the lake, and tried to 
overtake them to get a snapshot, but hard as 
we both paddled I only succeeded in getting 
within about thirty yards, too far for a good 
photo — the light too was bad, and the result 
was not a success. I spent the morning 
sketching and photoing the head, and then 
Steve set to work to skin and clean it. After 
breakfast there was great excitement, as four 
otters came swimming up to the rapid, possibly 
with the idea of going up into the lake above. 
Regardless of season and game laws, Steve 
had a shot with the small rifle and missed, but 
turned them back. Going out to fish I could 
not get a rise, the otters had evidently scared 
all the fish out of the pool. 

The clouds now cleared away and a brilliant 
sun came out, while hardly a ripple stirred the 
surface of the lake. In the afternoon we went 
down again to the end of the lake, climbed 
the highest look-out hill and stayed there till 




A THIRTY-FOUR POINT CARIBOU 








STEVE SKINNING THE HEAD (IF TJIE Til I It'PY-For It I'OINTER 



\To face page 238. 



SPORT ON KEPSKAIG 289 

sunset. The views on all sides were very 
beautiful and we looked right over Meddona- 
gonax with its numerous wooded islands, but 
saw no stags. We paddled down one of the 
steadies leading into Meddonagonax and so 
into the lake, hoping to see some feeding stag 
on its shores, but without success. 

It was a wonderful night, the moonlight 
made it almost as bright as day. 

The following morning was bright and cold 
and the mists hanging over the lake were soon 
dispelled by the morning sun. We got away 
about 6.30 a.m. and went down to the far end 
of the lake, but only saw one unshootable 
stag. Coming back for breakfast we decided 
to take a trip to the far end of Meddonagonax, 
where Steve said there was good fishing just 
where the river left the lake. It only took us 
one and a half hours of a steady row and paddle 
to get to the end of the lake where the Bale 
du Nord River leaves it. We ran down a few 
hundred yards of rapids and hauled up the 
canoe, leaving John to prepare lunch. It was 
an ideal-looking river and Steve said he had 
caught many large trout in it. The pools were 
perfect to look at, but somehow fish were com- 
paratively few and not in very good condition. 
I fished down about a mile to where the river 
fell into a small lake, and caught eighteen trout 



240 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

weighing about nine pounds. Steve said it 
was only a good day's march from where we 
were to where the river runs into the sea. 
About half-way down there is a big fall called 
Smoky Falls, above which salmon cannot run, 
but he said salmon were numerous below the 
falls. In the water we had fished he had 
caught many big trout in July, so possibly we 
were too late. 

Leaving at 5 o'clock I trolled all the way 
home but never got a pull nor did we see a stag. 

As we had apparently exhausted the ground, 
we decided to start back in the morning of 
the 12th and camp in a steady at the west end 
of Koskacodde. While John was packing up 
we had an early morning prowl round the 
shores in the canoe, but saw nothing. While 
the packing was being finished I fished the 
pool at the camp and got thirteen trout weigh- 
ing 7 J lb. — the largest about 1| lb. It was a 
blazing hot day, we got to our new camping 
ground shortly after midday, and only caught 
one trout on the way. 

Going out in the evening we crossed some 
ideal-looking caribou ground, but saw only one 
stag with a poor head and a couple of hinds. 

All our hopes were now centred on the Shoe 
Hill Ridge country, for though we had seen 
many stags we were most unfortunate as 



SPORT ON KEPSKAIG 241 

regards heads. This was the seventh day away 
from the main camp, and we had seen fourteen 
stags. I cannot help thinking it was a bad 
year for heads, or surely we should have seen 
something better. 

I sent Steve out early on the morning of 
the 13th to spy, but he came back and reported 
nothing in sight. 

We got away about 9.30, and with a favour- 
able wind were soon passing our old camp on 
Koskacodde. 

Joe had been uneasy about us, or lonely, and 
we met him tramping down the river, and, 
incidentally, disturbing the whole country. 
He reported a stag (of course a colossal one) 
which had passed quite close to our old camp. 
It was lucky no gun was left behind, for he most 
certainly would have had a shot. 

About dinner-time we reached a small lake 
from which the river ran out in a sluggish 
stream. Steve said it was a favourite spot 
for trout and suggested I should try it while 
lunch was being got ready. There was a deep 
hole just above the stream and a light wind 
was rippling the water. The trout was there 
in numbers and greedy for the fly. At every 
cast I rose one or two, and in an hour and a 
half I had forty trout weighing 19 J lb., the 
biggest about 2 Ife. I lost one which must have 



242 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

been at least 3 tb., and put back at least a 
dozen small ones. I never saw trout in such 
numbers or so eager to take the fly. 

It was nice to get back to the cheery camp 
on Sandy Grove Pond, and to my comfortable 
camp bed, but Joe had spoiled all chance of 
stags. We saw a good covey of grouse close 
to the camp, but they were very wild. I 
thought Joe would never go to sleep he had so 
much to say to his pals, and his stag grew 
bigger and bigger as the evening wore on, 
perhaps due to a tot of rum which was served 
out to celebrate our meeting. 

The morning of the 14th broke grey with a 
light rain, and the glass was falling, but there 
was no wind. I went down to fish the river for 
the last time while the men were packing up. 
In my favourite pool I took eleven fine trout, 
weighing 14 tb., four others in the smaller 
streams, 2 lb., and seven in crossing the lake, 
5 lb. — a total for the day of twenty-two trout, 
21 tb. I lost a fly in a good trout in the big 
pool. I fished the streams down till Steve 
came to say that all was ready for a start. 
As we passed the pool I chaffingly said, " I 
must get that trout which broke me." At the 
first cast I hooked a 2-ib. fish, and on landing 
him Steve quietly remarked, " Quite right, 
here is your fly," and sure enough there it was ! 



d 



SPORT ON KEPSKAIG 243 

Crossing the lake we saw two stags and landed 
to look at them, but again the heads were no 
good. The wind was rising and the rain 
coming down ere we reached our main camp on 
Sandy Grove Pond about 2.30 p.m. Time was 
now getting short, so we decided to push on 
to the Shoe Hill Ridge and there hope for a big 
stag as the deer began moving out of the woods. 
The evening was wild and wet, so we stayed in 
camp making arrangements for the morrow's 
march inland. 



R 2 



TO THE SHOE HILL COUNTRY 



CHAPTER VII 

TO THE SHOE HILL COUNTRY 

The morning of the 15th was grey, and 
though the glass was falhng, the weather 
looked like clearing. The men dawdled about 
and it was 11 before we all got away. Our 
plans were to take three good packs up to Shoe 
Hill Ridge and then send Joe back for what we 
wanted from time to time. 

We had kippered all the big trout and very 
excellent they were later on, for no fish were 
to be had on the barrens. 

We reached the top of the ridge about 
1 o'clock, when heavy rain set in. As I could 
not walk in an oilskin, there was nothing for 
it but to get wet through, and very soon I was 
literally wet to the skin. We were all shivering 
with cold as a bitter wind was blowing over 
the open barrens, so at 2 o'clock we halted to 
boil the kettle under the shelter of a big rock. 
Though wet through, the men were as cheery 
as ever, and Steve challenged Joe to race him 
to the top of a small hill which was Millais' 
look-out when he was camped in the Shoe Hill 

247 



248 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

Droke. They came back having seen nothing. 
We plodded along, a sorry crew, in the pouring 
rain, but somewhat refreshed by the hot tea. 

As we came in sight of a big lake lying south 
of the Shoe Hill Droke for which we were bound, 
we saw a good stag lying on the far side of the 
lake. The head certainly looked the biggest 
I had seen, but it was hard to use the telescope 
in the rain and I could not make out the points. 
However, both Steve and I saw that he had 
very big frontals, though I could only make out 
two points on the tops. 

The wind was all wrong and to get a stalk 
meant going right round the lake, about three 
miles. The other two men would have had 
to wait in the rain, and as we were all feeling 
pretty wretched, we decided to leave him and 
push on to camp. The decision was mine and 
I shall always regret it, for I believe he carried 
the best head we saw on the trip, but I thought 
as we were to hunt for a week on the Shoe Hill 
Ridge we had a fair chance of coming on him 
again, so we passed on to camp. He got our 
wind at least a mile away and cleared out over 
a ridge and never was seen again. We got to 
camp about 5 o'clock and were soon warming 
and drying ourselves before a roaring fire. 

We were now in the Shoe Hill Droke, and in 
the centre of what Millais described as the 



TO THE SHOE HILL COUNTRY 249 

finest caribou country he had seen in New- 
foundland. There was, however, one great 
difference. He had been there the end of 
October, when all the stags had moved up. 
It was now only the 15th September, and it 
remained to be seen what our luck would be. 

While getting everything shipshape I found 
my telescope sight was missing. Steve always 
carried it slung over his shoulder and must 
have left it behind at one of our halts. He 
assured me it would be " all right " and that 
he would go out at daybreak and bring it in, 
which he did. This was the first really un- 
comfortable day we had had — but our troubles 
were soon forgotten, and over a roaring camp 
fire and with a tot of rum each, we looked 
forward hopefully to our prospects for the next 
few days. The morning of the 16th was fine, 
the sun was shining brightly, the glass was 
rising, a fresh north-east wind was blowing, 
altogether a perfect stalking day. 

The Shoe Hill Droke lay on a slight rise above 
the Shoe Hill Lake. The droke was a general 
camping ground for shooting and trapping 
parties, and the remains of many camps were 
scattered through the wood. To the north 
lay Mount Sylvester, some seven miles 
away, with a fine open country between; to 
the south the view was bounded by a ridge 



250 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

about three miles away. A similar ridge lay 
about the same distance to the east, while to 
the west lay the country we had crossed the 
day before. The whole country was undulat- 
ing and there were scattered clumps of wood 
affording nice shelter for stags. We could hunt 
in every direction and could not possibly have 
been in a better centre. The ground was 
hard and dry, and it was certainly the best 
walking in the island. 

We started north about 9 a.m., and covered 
a lot of ground, walking continuously until 
6 p.m., with an hour's rest for a midday meal. 
We saw four stags that day, and though two 
looked shootable, yet after a long tramp in 
each case we found the horns no good, which 
was a great disappointment, for we had worked 
really hard. 

We also saw for the first time two bands of 
hinds, one of six with two small very young 
stags and one of four. We came on the spot 
where Millais had shot his forty-nine pointer 
and Steve pointed with pride to the bones 
still lying about, also to the scene of Captain 
Lumsden's thirty-seven pointer, but it was a 
poor satisfaction to me to know my pre- 
decessors on the ground had got such fine 
trophies if I could not find a shootable beast. 

Millais, Captain Lumsden, Captain Legge 



TO THE SHOE HILL COUNTRY 251 

and Mr. Littledale had all shot this country 

with Steve, who certainly knew every inch of it, 

but October is the month for the Shoe Hill 

Ridge, when the sport must be grand, for all 

the stags from the north as well as those from 

the wooded country all round come up to these 

barrens in the late autumn. The country was 

cut up with deep trails, showing where the 

stags passed on their annual migration south. 

For pleasure I should choose the early 

season, up to October 1st; the weather is 

finer and some fishing is to be had, but for 

good heads the late season is certainly the best, 

for all the stags are out in the open during and 

after the rut. In the end of October the 

weather is sometimes fine, but sometimes very 

broken, and Steve told me that he had more than 

once hunted in heavy snow in that month. 

On our return to camp everything was most 
comfortable — benches, tables, shelves in the 
tent, rests for the rifles ; only the big stag was 
wanted to make the Shoe Hill Broke a hunter's 
earthly paradise. 

On the morning of the 17th we struck east 
and crossed two ridges till we got to a valley 
between Shoe Hill Ridge and the hill on which 
was the Kesoquit Broke, where Millais had 
camped on his way up from the Long Harbour 
River. 



252 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

Looking down into the valley, we saw a good 
stag as regards body and two smaller ones. 
The head was a pretty open one, but the middles 
and frontals were poor, so we left him alone. 
I picked up a single horn with eighteen good 
points close by. We saw two more stags a 
long way off and went after them, but the 
distance was much greater than I thought. 
On our way we saw another small stag come 
out of a droke and walk quietly up a slight 
rise, where he was joined by a still smaller 
one from the far side of the ridge. Neither had 
shootable heads. They both went in for what 
Steve called their " standing sleep," stuck 
their legs out and remained perfectly motion- 
less with the head drooping till it almost 
touched the ground; occasionally they woke 
up with a start, but were soon sound asleep 
again. It was a most comical sight and 
lasted for about a quarter of an hour. I 
crawled up within about sixty yards without 
any difficulty and could easily have shot them 
both. The little stag woke up first, but it was 
not till we showed ourselves that the bigger 
stag moved away in a most dignified manner, 
giving two or three most beautiful chances 
before he went out of sight. 

While Steve was boiling the kettle I went 
on to a little hillock to spy the ground, and 



TO THE SHOE HILL COUNTRY 253 

saw the two stags we were first after, but 
again the heads were no good. 

I heard a rustle behind me and, thinking 
it was Steve coming up to call me to dinner, 
turned round and saw a hind feeding beside 
me, not five yards away. She started when she 
saw me, but moved away quite quietly. While 
eating our midday meal two more hinds fed 
quietly up to within a few yards and passed 
by without showing any signs of fear. This 
country was certainly full of deer, but none 
of the right sort. When we stopped for 
dinner we were within one and a half miles of 
the Kesoquit Droke, which is only about four 
miles from the head-waters of the Long 
Harbour River. From a small hillock we 
could see the entire country and the hills over 
Long Harbour, while away to the east was the 
conical hill known as the " Tolt." The ground 
looked very much the same as far as the eye 
could reach and should be a grand hunting 
country in October. We could also see the 
waters of the Maelpeg Lake, about three miles 
away. Returning to camp, we saw a black 
fox in the distance, which made Steve's mouth 
water, as he said he could sell a good skin for 
two hundred and forty dollars. 

Altogether the day had been a very inter- 
esting one. We had seen seven stags and a 



254 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

number of does, but unfortunately no good 
heads. 

On the 18th the weather broke badly, the 
glass fell Toths, a gale of wind and heavy 
driving rain made stalking impossible and kept 
us in camp all day. Towards evening the 
wind went round and the rain stopped, and 
then we saw a wonderful sunset, the heavy 
rain clouds drifting away across a golden red 
setting sun. We saw a stag on the sky-line 
about two miles away, but too late to go after 
him. 

On the 19th the wind had come round to 
the north, and it was a bright, lovely morning. 
We took the ground to the north-west, working 
round by where we had seen the stag the 
previous evening. We covered a lot of ground 
and altogether stalked four separate stags, 
only to find, on getting up to them, that the 
heads were no good. We must have walked 
over fifteen miles, but in the bracing air of the 
barrens fatigue was unknown. We saw an- 
other black fox to-day a long way off, and 
Steve said h,e would be back trapping in three 
weeks and hoped to get the two black foxes. 
I picked up a single horn with twenty-two 
points, very short and thick. There were 
eight points on the top just like a frontal tine. 

The morning of the 20th was very cold and 



TO THE SHOE HILL COUNTRY 255 

grey, but we hoped it would clear up, so started 
away over the ridge to the south-west. On 
topping the ridge, we looked down on a great 
marshy plain with a few scattered drokes. 
Nothing was in sight, so we walked quietly on 
towards one of the drokes, from behind which 
suddenly burst out five hinds pursued by what 
looked like a good stag, who was grunting as he 
followed the hinds — the first rutting stag we had 
seen. They paid so little attention to us that 
they were almost on top of us before they saw 
us. Unfortunately, the head was poor, as 
he gave an easy shot. Almost immediately 
after two herds of hinds passed us, while in 
the distance two more stags were seen feeding 
about three miles away. We went on towards 
them, when the rain set in and we had to find 
shelter for lunch. There was no sign of the 
weather clearing and stalking was impossible 
in the heavy rain and mist, so we plodded 
wearily back to camp, which we reached 
after dark, wet to the skin. This valley was 
full of grouse; we saw seven good coveys and 
I shot three birds for the pot with the small 
rifle. 

The rain continued all night, but stopped 
about 7 a.m. on the morning of the 21st. 

We had come up to Shoe Hill Ridge on the 
15th in heavy rain. It had rained on the 18th 



256 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

and again on the 20th, so three days out of six 
were spoiled. The whole country was now 
soaked with the rain, little rivulets had become 
torrents, and the marshes were knee deep in 
water. It seemed useless to remain on, as it 
meant my missing my steamer in New York, 
so we decided to pack up and get out. 

Looking back, I think this was a mistake. 
I might have spent another week in this grand 
country and taken a later boat home. Some 
big stags might have come up from the woods. 
On the other hand, the weather was broken 
and even Steve was in favour of moving. All 
along he regretted that I had not come in for 
the October shooting, when, he said, I was 
bound to have got good heads. He was just 
as keen as I was and sorry to leave. 




L*^'^ 



LI M H ii\ IHE BAIE DU NORD EI\ El{ 




MY CAxMi', .iilOE iilLL Jjiiolil. 



[To face paye 256. 



HOMEWARD BOUND 



CHAPTER VIII 

HOMEWARD BOUND 

Just as we had packed up a fearful thunder- 
storm came on which lasted over an hour, and 
we did not get away till 11.45, arriving at 
Sandy Pond at 3 o'clock, wet through. The 
water was pouring down the hill sides, every 
deep deer track was a torrent, and it was heavy 
going through the marshes. We had a meal 
and a change of clothes, and, packing the 
canoes, reached the portage into Sandy Pond 
at dusk. The evening was fine; we pitched 
camp in a nice droke and over a good hot supper 
at 9 o'clock the discomforts of the day were 
soon forgotten. By the aneroid the Shoe Hill 
Droke was 370 feet above the level of Sandy 
Grove Pond. There was just a last chance of 
a stag, as Steve said there was some good 
ground in the direction of where I had shot the 
first stag. I sent him out at daybreak on the 
22nd, and he came back reporting three stags 
about half-a-mile away, one of which he 
thought was a good one. 

We started away and found them feeding in 

s 2 259 



260 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

an open marsh without any cover but three 
great boulders about 800 yards from where 
they were. The biggest stag had a very pretty 
head, but careful examination with the glass 
decided me to let him go. Steve said, " Pity 
that not forty-pointer." The position looked 
so impossible that I told Steve we never could 
have got a stalk or a shot. " I drive him," 
said Steve. Wishing to see how he would 
manage it I told him to go ahead, while I lay 
behind the big boulder; meanwhile the stags 
lay down. He took a tremendous round and 
presently I saw him about a mile on the other 
side of the stags, who at the moment got his 
wind, rose and began to trot away, but not 
towards me. Suddenly I saw Steve trotting 
along to turn them, which he did most success- 
fully, for the three stags came along at a swing- 
ing trot, the big one behind, and passed in the 
open about 150 yards from me. The shot 
was such a sporting one I could not resist it, 
and as the thud of the bullet came back to me 
the stag dashed forward at a gallop and rolled 
over stone dead, shot through the heart. My 
last stalk and shot of the trip. I cannot 
pretend that stalking caribou is a high form 
of sport. If the wind is right and there are 
not too many hinds about one can take any 
liberties. Of all the animals I have shot the 




UP THE TWO-MILE BROOK, HOMEWARD BOUND 




A UUddIv IN I'LlKil) 



[To face page 201 



HOMEWARD BOUND 261 

caribou seems to me the most stupid and the 
easiest to bag under ordinary circumstances. 

I had a special permit to shoot five stags, 
but only shot four, not counting the deer we 
had to shoot for meat, generally hinds. 

We soon had the meat in the canoes. The 
brooks and shallow steadies were now full up 
from the heavy rains, so we poled where we had 
to portage coming in. The rain was falling 
in torrents. We saw our last stag as we came 
up to Red Hill Pond, but he had no head to 
speak of. By 4.30 we reached Red Hill Pond, 
which was up over two feet. The rain was so 
bad we decided to camp, and soon had a fire as 
big as a house going, before which we dried our- 
selves; the men just as cheerful as if it had 
been bright sunshine. It was an awful night, 
a gale tearing through the tops of the trees, 
and the rain coming down in sheets; but the 
morning of the 23rd was fine, as the wind had 
come round to the north, and we made an 
early start as we hoped to reach Ryan's by 
nightfall. I had had bad luck; I had seen 
and stalked forty-two stags and never saw one 
really good head. I think it must have been 
a bad year for heads, or Millais, Lumsden, 
Legge and Littledale had cleared the best stags 
off the ground. A party of Americans had 

come over from the east the previous year, but 
S3 



262 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

spent only two days on the Shoe Hill Ridge and 
got two good stags. 

Steve now regretted that we had not gone 
back by the Terra Nova river and lake. He 
said we could have shot every rapid without 
unloading and would have reached St. John's 
much quicker than by going back to Belleoram. 
With a gale of wind behind us, but no rain, we 
made good time. The two-mile brook was in 
heavy flood and we poled the canoe up and 
reached the old camp on Hungry Grove Pond 
by 11. 

Here I left all the provisions that were left 
over, the fly for the men and the kit I was 
giving them as a present, and we started for a 
fifteen-mile tramp to Ryan's at 11.45. 

The ground was saturated and we only 
reached the top of the hill above Ryan's at 
dark. It was awful going down the hill in the 
dark, and the men fell with their packs more 
than once. We simply waded and stumbled 
along till we saw the welcome lights of the 
house at 7.30 p.m. — a real hard day's work. 
I shot five grouse on the way. By the aneroid 
the top of the six-mile hill was 800 feet above 
the sea-level at Ryan's. 

Ryan was away, but I received a hearty 
welcome from his niece. The question now 
was what was to be done ? There was no 



HOMEWARD BOUND 263 

schooner or sailing boat of any kind ; however, 
as usual, Steve and John were not to be de- 
feated, but said they would row me down to 
Anderson's Cove in the fishing dory. 

The morning of the 24th was lovely and calm, 
but a wind sprang up just as we got away and 
it was soon blowing a gale in our teeth and we 
were shipping heavy seas. Steve and John 
struggled gallantly on, but at 2 o'clock we 
had to halt, as we could make no way. After 
about two hours, when we were considering 
how we could pass the night, the wind dropped 
as suddenly as it rose and we reached John 
Saunders' house just at dark. Anderson's 
Cove was two miles farther on. Saunders was 
a fine specimen of the old settler, and his house 
was a picture of cleanliness and neatness. The 
sails of his schooner were unbent, so we decided 
to go on to the Cove where the leading trader, 
Mr. Thornhill, lived, and Steve said he had a 
sailing boat and could put us across next 
morning. There was a slight difficulty about 
this, as one of the hands wanted a guarantee of 
so many dollars a day should he be detained in 
Belleoram. I cut matters short by sending a 
wire to Saunders to bend his sails and come 
over as early as he could in the morning, I 
think my friends at Anderson's Cove were a 
bit disappointed when Saunders and his smart 



264 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

boat came across with a spanking breeze and 
picked us up about 9 a.m. We had all slept 
on the floor at Thornhill's, but had an excellent 
supper of a whole cod boiled with potatoes. 

We had a lovely sail across to Belleoram — 
Saunders and a fine strapping son being the 
crew. The boat was as smart and clean as a 
yacht, and the two Saunders were the best type 
I had yet met of the Newfoundland settlers. 

Steve and John came for the trip as cheery 
as ever, though their badly blistered hands 
showed the work of yesterday. By 12.30 I 
was at Belleoram, and by 1 o'clock the men 
were on their way back to Long Harbour. As 
Steve said good-bye it was really quite touching. 
" You treat us very well, you very good man. 
Come again, and God bless you." I certainly 
never parted with men with such regret and 
never want better friends or hunting comrades. 

Being Sunday, Belleoram was very quiet. 
Mrs. Cluett gave me an excellent dinner and a 
delightful bedroom, for I had to stay the night, 
as my steamer was not due till next day. In 
the evening I went to the service in the big 
church on the hill. The congregation were 
mostly men who " go down to the sea in ships 
and occupy their business in great waters," 
while the special prayer for their protection 
against the perils of cod fishing struck a note 



HOMEWARD BOUND 265 

that was new to me. There was quite a nice 
Httle organ and the whole congregation joined 
devoutly in the hymns ; altogether the service 
was most impressive. 

The Glencoe turned up at 1 o'clock on the 
26th and the next afternoon we reached 
Placentia, where the train was waiting. We 
got away about 5.30, but did not reach St. 
John's (80 miles) till 2 a.m. the following morn- 
ing, a very poor performance. The engine 
could not pull us up the inclines. We made a 
rush and each time stuck half-way and had to 
run back a couple of miles to make a fresh try. 
However, it seemed a usual occurrence, for 
every one on board took it quite philosophic- 
ally, many recounting their reminiscences of 
when they had to stop all night in the train. 

In the train was Mr. Job, just returning from 
a good grouse shoot. He told me he had in his 
office a sixty-four pointer caribou stag shot by 
an Indian and bought by his brother. He 
very kindly allowed me to see it the next day, 
and a very remarkable head it was; I could 
make out at least sixty points. 

I left St. John's at 6 p.m. on the 29th and 
as we reached Gaff Topsails, about the highest 
point of the railway, sleet and light snow were 
falling and a bitter wind was blowing across 
the open barrens. Descending to the Humber 



266 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

Valley the climate became milder and the 
autumn tints made the scenery, if possible, 
more beautiful than when I had passed it 
before. I had to spend Saturday night in 
Halifax, Nova Scotia, but got away by the 
Sunday night express and reached New York 
early on Tuesday morning. It was still hot 
and muggy and I was glad to leave on the 
Deutschland on Saturday, October 8th, arriving 
in Plymouth early on October 14th. 

The route I had chosen involved great loss 
of time, the weekly sailing of the Glencoe on the 
south coast being a great drawback. If one 
steamer be missed a week is lost. 

I might just as well have gone from Port aux 
Basques to Belleoram by steamer and returned 
from Belleroram to Port aux Basques, thus 
avoiding the tiresome railway journey of 
twenty-nine hours, but I had to outfit at St. 
John's and wished also to see the scenery of 
the island. 

The heads I got did not make up for a some- 
what expensive trip, but, on the other hand, I 
had seen a great deal of very beautiful country 
in fair comfort and enjoyed some excellent 
trout fishing which I would not have got had I 
gone in from the railway. I had the Mount 
Sylvester country all to myself and it was 
simply bad luck that I saw no good heads. I 



HOMEWARD BOUND 267 

can honestly say, however, that I never en- 
joyed a hunting trip more, and only wish I could 
look forward to another visit to the island, when 
with my present experiences I could, I think, 
make better arrangements to avoid loss of 
time in reaching the hunting grounds. 

The game laws of Newfoundland are suffici- 
ently liberal. A licence of $50 (£10) gives the 
visitor the right to shoot three caribou stags. 
The true sportsman should be content with 
this limit and will carefully pick his heads. 

The Newfoundlander, whether white man 
or Indian, is not charged the $50. The Indian 
certainly shoots what he wants and is not 
particular about a close time. Accustomed 
as he has been from time immemorial to range 
the island and shoot for food and clothing, it 
is difficult to get him to understand the prin- 
ciple underlying game laws, and to accept a 
game limit to which he has never been accus- 
tomed and the necessity for which he does not 
understand. 

When the fishing laws come to be considered 
there seems to me great room for improvement. 
The Newfoundland Government prides itself 
on all the rivers being open to every one. For 
the first time, in 1910, a fishing licence of $10 
was imposed on the visitor, and this gave him 
the right to fish any river in the island. The 



268 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

practical result is, that many of the best-known 
rivers, such as the Codroy and Harry's Brook, 
are overfished. 

All the rivers on the west coast are very 
accessible to the angler from the United States, 
and suffer most from overcrowding. I met 
an English angler who had been fishing the 
Codroy; he said it was one continual struggle 
as to who would get on to the water first. I 
heard the same story at the south-east arm, 
Placentia. The Government absolutely re- 
fuses to lease a river or even to limit the number 
of rods, and I think this policy is entirely 
wrong. 

In practice one may decide on a season in 
Newfoundland. Having carefully selected a 
somewhat inaccessible river and made all one's 
arrangements for camping out, it would cer- 
tainly be disappointing on arrival to find two 
or three other parties settled on the river and 
one's trip spoiled, yet this is quite possible. 
I was told in St. John's, no Government would 
dare to change the existing law and the policy 
of the open door in fishing. This I cannot 
understand, for what has been done in Canada, 
New Brunswick and Nova Scotia can surely 
be done in Newfoundland. 

The application of the law is carried to the 
extreme. An official of the Fishery Board 



HOMEWARD BOUND 269 

told me of a case where an American offered a 
liberal rent for a remote river on the Labrador 
Coast. There was but one settler on the river 
and the American guaranteed that he would 
take him into his service. He proposed to 
build a fishing lodge and so put capital into the 
country. His application was refused. 

The Government professes to be most anxi- 
ous to encourage the tourist and sportsman to 
visit the island, but I venture to think they are 
not going the right way about it, at least as 
regards the angler. 

They do not seem to recognize the advantage 
to the country of leasing any of the many 
rivers. First the lessee would see that the 
river was carefully preserved, he would give 
employment to watchers, he would probably 
build a house and in any case would spend 
money in the country, while at the same time 
his rent goes to increase the revenue. 

A double object is thus attained — the preser- 
vation of fish and game, and an increase in 
revenue. 

If, however, such a policy be impossible the 
least the Government can do is to limit the 
number of rods on each river and to have some 
means of knowing which rivers are being fished 
and by how many rods. In this way the angler 
contemplating a trip to Newfoundland could 



270 SPORT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 

apply for all information to the existing Fishery 
Board, who would advise him where to go with 
the least chance of being crowded out. 

Given some such organization, Newfound- 
land should become the favourite resort of the 
British angler. 

A hunting trip may be cheap or expensive, 
chiefly depending on the route selected, the 
number of Indians employed and the means of 
transport in the island. The cheapest route 
is by the direct steamers to St. John's. Two 
Indians are sufficient, but a third adds greatly 
to one's comfort. Their pay is — Headman, 
2 J to 3 dollars a day; other men, 2 dollars. 
If a waterway into the interior be selected, 
two canoes are a luxury, one large one a 
necessity; with two canoes all the necessaries 
and many of the luxuries of life can be enjoyed ; 
the same cannot be said of packing, as my 
Vancouver experiences have shown. It is to 
say the least a nuisance to have the necessaries 
cut down; the luxuries, by which I mean pre- 
served milk, butter, jam, oatmeal, and a small 
amount of whisky or rum, one can do without, 
but why not be comfortable, if comfort can be 
found, by the better mode of transport which 
canoes afford. 

They can be ordered from Canada through 
Mr. Blair and sold on leaving the island. 



HOMEWARD BOUND 271 

I give in an appendix my list of stores, but I 
had far too much. One and a half stone of flour 
is ample for four men for one week, the amount 
taken will then depend on the length of the 
trip. The cost as paid in St. John's is given. 
I had many stores over, for we had abundance 
of venison and fish. 

Fish need never be wasted ; the trout split, 
salted and hung up over or near the camp fire 
make excellent kippers, and when up on the 
Shoe Hill Ridge, where no fresh fish were 
obtainable, I thoroughly enjoyed the kippered 
trout from Sandy Grove Pond. 



NEWFOUNDLAND 
LIST OF STORES TAKEN 



APPENDIX ] 


[ 






cents. 


$ 


7 stones Flour 


. 65 


4.55 


50 lib. Bacon .... 


35 


17.50 


2 3- lb. tins Lard 


70 


1.40 


7 lb. Tea 


60 


4.20 


2 lb. Coffee .... 


48 


.96 


40 lb. Sugar .... 


8 


3.20 


15 tins St. Charles Cream 


15 


2.25 


8 gals. Potatoes 


25 


2.00 


7 lb. Patna Rice 


8 


.56 


15 lb. Lima Beans . 


8 


1.20 


6 bags Salt .... 


3 


.18 


3 lb. Dried Apples . 


20 


.60 


4 lb. Peaches .... 


25 


1.00 


3 lb. Apricots .... 


25 


.75 


16 J- lb. tins Baking Powder. 


16 


2.56 


3 1-lb. tins Marmalade . 


24 


.72 


3 1-lb. tins Apricot Jam 


28 


.84 


3 lb. Cooking Butter 


38 


1.14 


9 lb. Eating Butter 


48 


4.05 


15 lb. Onions .... 


6 


.90 


2 tins White Pepper 


8 


.16 


6 tins Corned Beef 


22 


1.32 


1 5- lb. tin Alum 


15 


.75 


7 yards Grey Calico 


12 


.84 


1 Nest tin boxes for Stores . 




.90 


4 lb. Scotch Oatmeal 


8 


.32 


2 bottles Worcester Sauce 


25 


.50 


1 bottle Vinegar 




.25 


2 tins Mustard 


10 


.20 


273 







74 APPENDIX 






cents. 


$ 


6 tins Potted Meat . 


15 


.90 


1 Dutch Oven 




4.00 


2 tins Dubbin .... 


15 


.30 


1 Frying Pan made to order . 




1.20 


2 American Axes 


1.10 


2.20 


1 Hatchet .... 




.75 


1 ball Twine .... 




.18 


6 fathom Bank Line 




.25 


3 Sail Needles .... 


2 


.06 


1 slip Sail Twine 




25 


6 yards 12-oz. Duck 


25 


1.50 


i lb. 1" Copper Tacks . 


50 


.25 


1 2- lb. tin Grey Paint . 




.80 


2 doz. V Brass Screws . 


6 


.12 


1 lb. 3'" Iron Nails . 




.06 


6 lb. Smoking Tobacco . 


80 


4.80 


3 bottles Rum .... 


90 


2.70 


8 bottles Whisky . 


1.30 


10.40 


1 packet Toilet Paper . 




.10 


6 cakes Soap 


8 


.48 


1 doz. Sea Dog Matches 




.10 


2 doz. Wax Matches 


20 


.40 


1 packet Sulphur Matches 




.20 


3 lb. Price's Candles 


20 


.60 


1 Candle Lantern . 




.75 


1 Oil Stove .... 




.35 


1 small bottle Oil . 




.25 


2 tin Basins 


15 


.30 


1 iron Spoon 




.15 


1 tin Flash .... 




.20 


2 tins Sardines .... 


20 


.40 


2 1-lb. tins Lunch Tongue 


45 


.90 


1 tin Apricots .... 




.30 


1 tin Cocoa and Milk 




.25 


3 sets Knives and Forks 


17 


.51 


14 lb. Hard Bread .... 


6 


.84 


1 Can Opener .... 




.20 


3 tin Camp Cups .... 


20 


.60 



APPENDIX 


2'3 




cents. 


$ 


1 Enamel Mug 


20 


.20 


4 tin Plates 






8 


.82 


1 iron Fork 








.20 


1 iron Spoon . 








.18 


5 Boxes and Packing 








4.00 


Freight to Belleoram 








2.71 


8 Grey Calico Bags 








2.00 


1 Gridiron 








.30 


1 Lock for Box 








.15 


1 set Hinges 








.10 


1 Hasp and Staple . 






Total 


.10 




$104.66 



RicHAHD Clat <fe Sons, Limited 

BRUNSWICK STREET, STAMFORD STREET, S.E., 
AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. 



